Undercovers (5 page)

“My friend wants talk to you.”

“Mr. Romero?”

“No darlin’. Someone new.” He placed his hand against the small of her back, ushering her down the dark hallway. “Wait for him in room five. He’ll be there soon.”

He practically shoved her inside, slamming the door behind her. The rooms were pretty much all the same— sparse furniture, a large bed that dominated the entire space.

She counted her money while she waited, her head lifting when the door creaked open.

It was him. She tucked her bills into her bra and stood.

There was something about the way he stared at her in silence, his almost translucent eyes void of any emotion, that made her blood run cold.

“What’s your name?” He curled a lock of her hair around his pale finger, his cool breath blasting her face.

“Delilah.”

“No. Your real name.”

What was it with men and knowing her name?

“That is my real name, but you know that already.” She turned when he walked behind her. “After all, you asked Jensen.”

He stopped, letting her hair slide through his fingers. “The lady is beautiful and smart.” He smiled, and it was so pretty, so effeminate she wondered if he hadn’t been born a woman.

“Take off your clothes.”

There wasn’t much to remove. She slipped out of her getup for the evening—leather push up bra, matching thong and black stilettos.

She fought the urge to shiver when his eyes devoured her, his face glowing with naked lust.

“Lie down and touch yourself for me.”

She obeyed his command. Spreading out across the bed, her legs falling apart as she began to stroke her sex with her finger.

She started to close her eyes but his voice stopped her.

“Watch me while you touch yourself.”

She held his gaze, her body flushing with heat almost instantly. She realised what was happening, but there was nothing she could do about it. He had the ability to invoke rapture—all vampires had it, but few could do it without taking blood. His rapture was strong, building her desire with his stare alone.

She let him cast his spell over her, knowing if she fought back he would know she was a vampire. They didn’t have enough evidence yet to bring him in. He had to begin to take her blood. He had to begin to drain her before they could tie him to the other murders, and so she allowed herself to be seduced by his power, knowing it was the only way to catch him.

Her pussy throbbed and she stroked herself harder, faster, her clit stiff and engorged with blood. She grabbed her breast with her free hand, tugging at the hardened peak, sending shocks of pleasure washing over her.

He whisked out of his clothing, his pale cock thick and hard. Her thighs opened wider, her entire body drunk with lust. When he covered her with his slender frame, her mind fought against the invasion that would soon come, until she remembered Roarke’s instructions when he offered her the assignment.
Vampires do not fear sex, they embrace it. That part of you that is inhibited is the humanity in you—you will have to ignore that side of you if you want to survive this case.

She understood now. The human Jasmeene cringed at Les’ touch and what he represented, but the vampire didn’t care. The vampire saw only a handsome man who could satiate her sexual beast.

He rubbed his hardened length against her, but he didn’t enter her, as he teased her with the promise of more. With just that slight contact, she nearly exploded, her legs trembling. It was the rapture that made her needy, her body ravenous. She moved against him, their sighs of pleasure filling up the room

She cried out when he pierced her throat, her body arching, as she offered him her neck. The pleasure was all consuming, threatening to sweep her away on some imaginary tide.

It wasn’t until the pleasure receded, her orgasm fading that she realised he was still drinking from her. This was how he did it. This explained why his victims never showed signs of a struggle. He ensnared them with their own lust, their orgasms bringing them to submission. By the time they realised they were dying—they were dead. Had she not been half-vampire, she never would have stood a chance.

She clawed at him, her body already heavy and lethargic. Her incisors exploded in her mouth, and she pushed at him, sending him flailing back. She was too weak to fight him, and she stumbled from the bed rushing to the door.

He grabbed her by the neck, flinging her across the room. She hit the wall hard, her body crumpling. He stalked towards her, and she struggled to stand, her limbs refusing to cooperate. He stood over her, the icy glint of his stare, cold and sinister. He was going to kill her.

She made one last lunge for him, missing when he stepped aside, her body thudding to the floor. Just as he was closing his hand around her neck, the door crashed in, and Roarke was there, his eyes red, his incisors bared, and he snarled when he saw her.

The last thing she remembered was Les’ piercing cry then she blacked out.

* * * *

 “I’m fine, Roarke, really.”

With the exception of being mentally worn out, she was. Roarke had given her blood, and when the doctor arrived, he’d given her more. She was fully alert, and her minor scrapes completely healed. Roarke had nothing to worry about.

He scowled, his eyes skimming over her again, before he finally grunted.

“Call me when you get home. We need to talk.”

She nodded. There was no point in arguing. If she didn’t call he would only show up on her doorstep. Besides, he was right. They did need to talk. But not about the case. The case they would deal with tomorrow.

It was already the middle of the night, and they’d done as much as they could do for now. After Roarke restrained Les, they’d sent him straight to the city jail where he would stay until he was called to court. They also had the statements from the strippers and patrons who were present during the attack. Jensen had gotten away, but they’d find him soon enough, and for now the club was closed. All in all, it was a good day at the office.

She made her way home knowing as soon as she got there he would expect her call—then he would demand some answers. She wished she had some for him, but she didn’t. One hundred and fifty years was a long time to carry a torch and hold a grudge towards a man who hadn’t even known her name. To discover he’d thought about her, even remembered her, changed everything and nothing. So he remembered that girl, but she wasn’t that girl— not anymore. While the man that Roarke was now was the same man he’d been then—a wanderer, a player, someone she still couldn’t trust with her heart.

She entered her tiny apartment, flipped on the light, and headed straight for the fridge. Despite the myths, vampires ate human food, could live off human food, and could go for quite awhile without blood. But with her being half-human, she could go forever without blood, except she would begin to age, her vampire strength fading until she fed again.

She pulled out a steak, and popped it under her broiler. She’d cook it rare—a happy medium for her dual nature.

While she waited for her food to cook, she decided to phone Roarke. She reached for her cell and dialled his number, patiently waiting while it rang.

* * * *

“Hello.”

“Roarke?”

He frowned. It wasn’t her. “What is it Kris?”

He got into his car and turned the key.

“We have a problem.”

His hand tightened around his cell. “What kind of problem?”

“I just got some disturbing info from one of my contacts. Word on the street is Les Anders wasn’t working alone.”

“I’m listening.”

“It seems Jensen and Les were lovers. Jensen wasn’t just some strip joint owner running a couple of prostitutes in the back.”

Roarke hadn’t thought he was, but when they’d question him, Les never let on that he had a partner.

“You got any proof?”

“I got an eye witness that’s willing to testify she saw Les and Jensen dump the body of our last victim.”

“That’s good. Now we just got to find Jensen and bring him in.”

“That’s the other reason why I called.” Something in Kris’ voice had alarm bells ringing in his ear.

“What is it Kris!” he barked.

“I have a feeling Jensen is going to seek out Jasmeene. I tried to call her—”

“You have a feeling?” He cursed when Kris remained silent. Fucking clairvoyant shifter. “Keep calling her, and call me the moment you get her!”

Jasmeene shot out of her chair, her lips curling above her fangs when she felt a sinister presence inside her apartment.

“How did you get in here?”

Jensen circled her, his eyes were wild, his incisors visible. “My secret,” he said with a smirk.

Her phone rang, drawing his attention. That split second was enough. She slammed into his chest, crushing several ribs with the force of her blow. He screeched in pain, his hand clutching her hair. She ignored the throbbing in her head, and pinned him, her fist slamming into jaw.

“You fucking bitch!” he screamed at her. “You ruined everything!”

He ripped out several strands of her hair, and she pummelled him harder. He tried to buck her, but she was stronger. She’d been born a vampire, the blood of her mother more ancient, more powerful than any in the world. Jensen had been turned—he was no match for her, especially when she was this crazed with rage. The bastard had pulled out tufts of her hair!

Her knuckles broke through his jaw and he slumped beneath her, unconscious. He wouldn’t stay that way for long, so she cuffed him to her water pipe and took a sip of his blood from his wrist. If he got away she’d be able to track him.

Her phone rang again and she moved towards it, but stopped when her front door crashed in. She attacked, slamming the intruder to the floor. He released a deep grunt and she growled at him until she realised who it was.

“Roarke?”

She rolled off of him.

“Why didn’t you answer your fucking phone.” He groaned as he shuffled to his feet, a slight wince marring his handsome face.

“I was just a little busy.” She gestured over her shoulder at a still unconscious Jensen.

Sirens whined in the distance and she glared up at him, although she was having a hard time trying to find a reason to be upset. He’d called for backup, but he’d come for her himself. She ignored the butterflies that fluttered in her belly. Just because he cared enough to come after her, didn’t mean anything. She was supposed to be holding a grudge.

“You owe me a new door.”

He dragged her into his arms, and she let him. “Don’t do that to me again. I can’t handle two threats to your life in one night.”

Her smile was unapologetic. “Well, you’d better get used to it. After all I’m a cop.”

He growled, his lips claiming hers. He kissed her hard, and she didn’t see the need to remind him he was taking an awful lot of liberties, as she wound her arms behind his neck, melting into him.

Chapter Five

Roarke looked up at the sound of a faint knock against his door, his guest not waiting for a response before pushing it open.

He smiled. Only one person would dare to barge in on him.

“Are you busy?” Jasmeene asked, closing the door behind her. He raised a brow when she locked it.

He set his pen down with a sigh. “Not anymore.” It was late, probably a handful of people still at the office. He’d been trying to wrap up his paperwork on the case—the ever efficient Jasmeene had finished hers that morning.

He stood as she crossed the room, needing to be near her. It had been two days since they’d kissed in her apartment. He’d stayed away from her, trying to give her space. She knew what was happening between them, knew that he’d put the pieces together, but he wouldn’t force her, he was determined to wait until she came to him, ready to tell him the truth. At the very least, she owed him that.

But now that she was there, the urge to press her was strong. He needed to hear her admit it. He refused to begin their life together with a lie.

“That girl that night. She was you, wasn’t she?”

At first she didn’t answer. That’s when a flash of gold caught his eye. His watch. He knew if he opened it he would find his name engraved inside. His father had given it to him and he’d never parted with it—until he’d met her.

“Keep it,” he said when she held it out to him. “I gave it to you, so it’s yours.”

“I wore it for a long time, until I realised it was pathetic to carry a torch for a man who didn’t even know my name, let alone my face.”

The derision in her voice made it seem as if he’d discarded her, as if he’d used her, when she was the one who had walked away. Anger fuelled his steps, and he crossed the room, stopping within inches of her.

“Pathetic? No, what’s pathetic is how I delayed my move to Philadelphia for almost a year in order to search for you, all the while hoping you would show up on my doorstep one day.” He ignored her gasp of surprise. After all, if she’d fucking come to him, if she’d fucking followed her heart, as he had, she would have known how much she’d meant to him. God only knew what she’d done for a hundred and fifty years, but as for him. Well, he wouldn’t have spent that time trying to erase her from his memory with each and every woman he bedded, all the while hoping she’d one day return.

“I was a spy for the Union Army during the War, and after it was over I moved to Paris,” she said to the rant in his head, finally answering the question that had plagued him all this time. She shook her head then, her eyes wide. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

His shields were down, and so she’d easily read his every thought, “You did that that night, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to respond because he knew. She’d listened to the thoughts in his head, and jumped to a hasty conclusion. “Damn it, Jasmeene. I was foolish and brash and whatever thoughts you heard, I really didn’t mean them. For Christ’s sake, I was in the middle of trying to catch a kidnapper! At least you could have told me your name. I could have found you later and explained.”