Demon Mistress (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #6)

Demon Mistress (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #6) Page 3

“Yeah, I know—”

“Like hell you do!” I cut him off, so angry that I shoved him away so he wasn’t standing so near me. “Go through one-tenth of what I endured, and then look me in the eyes and tell me what I did was unjustified. But you couldn’t take it, could you, boy? You’d end up crawling on your belly, sucking Dredge’s cock, begging him to spare you. You would have curled up in his court just to stop the torture.” I didn’t care who heard me now. There was no wiggle room when it came to discussing Dredge. Not for me.

Wade’s eyes flashed red. He leaned forward, staring down at me, his long lashes fluttering against his pale skin. “Don’t be an ass. I know what you went through. And I know you had to kill him. But Menolly, be logical. If I don’t win, Terrance will. And Terrance is another Dredge in the making. He wants to bring the mystique of fear back into being a vampire.”

Terrance, the owner of the Fangtabula, was an old-school vamp. Badass and arrogant, he thought nothing of using mortals for his private feeding station, then tossing them out when they were dry. But he was a Boy Scout compared to Dredge.

“Bullshit.” I stared past him. As much as I hated to admit it, I knew he was right. I had become a controversy, a division among the vamps. I weighed down his campaign, unless he chose to stand by my side and defend me. And he could do it—if he wanted to. But Wade didn’t like being the bad guy. Wade wanted to win on his charm, not his ability to lead.

I felt the bloody tears well up and willed them away. I wouldn’t let him make me cry. “Damn you. I’ve done one hell of a lot for Vampires Anonymous, and to be shoved aside like this is a fucking slap in the face.”

“Menolly—”

“Don’t Menolly me. If you had any real balls, Terrance wouldn’t have gained the foothold he has now. But you don’t like confrontation, and you’re still trying to please everybody, even though you know you can’t do it. If you’d taken Terrance out when he started showing signs of being a troublemaker, we wouldn’t be facing this problem.”

Wade grabbed me by the shoulders.

I slowly reached up and took hold of his wrist, squeezing hard enough to feel the bones shift. “Take your hands off of me, or I’ll toss you across the fucking room.” My fangs extended as anger clouded my senses.

He abruptly let go. I shoved him again, just enough to give him the message that I was serious.

His gaze never left my face as he steadied himself.

“I agree that you’ve done a remarkable job for Vampires Anonymous, but don’t ever lose track of the fact that the group is my baby. I started it, I built it into what it is today. There have been others who’ve put just as much time into it as you, if not more. Sassy Branson for one. Now, can’t we keep this civil?” He leaned down, his lips a hairsbreadth from mine.

I let out a low hiss. “Don’t you go all red-eye toward me.” No breath, no whisper of air passed between us.

His gaze lingered on my face. “I thought you liked men who take charge. You’re certainly spending enough time with that incubus. And he’s still a breather, demon spawn or not.” And then Wade was kissing me, pushing me hard against the door.

Without so much as a second thought, I kneed him in the groin, and he shuddered, backing away. While a kick in the balls didn’t hurt vamps the same way it hurt FBH men, it still smarted.

“Touch me again, and I’ll stake you. First you kick me to the curb, and then you try to kiss me? No more. I rescind my invitation. Wade Stevens, you’re no longer welcome in my home. You may not pass through my door. And think twice about darkening my bar again.” I couldn’t prevent him from visiting the bar—it was a public venue—but I could make certain he never came inside our house again.

He actually had the nerve to look shocked. “Menolly—don’t! We’ll figure out something—”

“Too late. Get. Out. Now. If I have to, I’ll call Tavah to help me, and we’ll take you down. You can’t stand against both of us.” The bloodlust pounded in my ears. I wanted to hunt, to seek, to tear something apart. “You’d better go. I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself in check.”

He took one last look at me and then, smart enough to recognize my breaking point, vanished in a blur. I was walking on the razor’s edge, I was stronger than he was, and he knew it.

I tried to gather my wits. So that’s where we were at. Wade had betrayed me for political reasons. He’d broken our friendship for personal gain, and while I understood his desire to ascend to the regency, I also had the suspicion he was overreacting to play a part in front of his buddies. He’d always wanted to be the good cop. And to do so, he’d had to make me the bad cop. Typical man.

I sidled out to the bar. The smell of sweat and booze rose to overwhelm me. The sound of heartbeats drummed out a pulsing tattoo, threatening to send me into a feeding frenzy. I motioned to Luke.

He took one look at me and immediately nodded toward the door. “You need to hunt.”

Luke was a werewolf. He understood instinct, especially since he didn’t live with a pack, the way most of the werewolves did. A lone wolf, he was on his own, and he had to remain alert. Luke had never told me what made him break with his pack, but I’d checked, and he had no criminal record, though the scar running down the side of his face told me he’d seen trouble in his past.

“Yeah. Really bad. Can you tell Camille I’ll be back in a little bit? If I don’t get myself outside, I’m going to explode, and that would not be a good thing. And if Wade comes back, tell him I said to get the fuck out of my bar and stay out.”

Luke was good at reading between the lines. He didn’t ask questions, just threw his bartender’s rag over his shoulder, then headed toward the stairs. I gave him one backward glance, then slipped out the door.

Moving so fast no one would notice me, I passed by the alley behind the Wayfarer. I didn’t want to put Chit and his posse in danger. No, I knew exactly where to go.

When I hunted, I tracked the lowlifes: the rapists and druggies and pimps and pushers that haunted the Seattle night. If I had to drink from an innocent, I made sure that I never took more than they could spare, and I wiped their memories, leaving only a pleasant suggestion that they’d been out for a long walk and needed a little nap and a good steak to refresh themselves.

The city proper was sweating with the scents of gasoline fumes and heat rising from the pavement and the mingled perfume from over a half-million people. I slipped through the back alleys, crossing from neighborhood to neighborhood until I reached the Central District, a high-crime area that I frequented during my hunts. I almost always found somebody to stalk and seldom went away hungry.

Closing my eyes, I sent out feelers as the city moved around me. There—down a nearby alley. A rumble of excitement filtered out from a group of gangbangers getting ready for a brawl.

Used to be the Crips and the Bloods controlled the Seattle streets, but lately a new set of gangs had moved into town. The Zeets, named for their hold on the infamous Z-fen market—the current date-rape drug of choice used primarily by pimps to keep their stables in line because it was so highly addictive—kept a tight fist on the drug trade. And the Wings, an Asian-based gang, had taken over the protection racket.

I zeroed in on the group. Ten or eleven, they were from the Zeets. The energy of drug-enhanced testosterone raced through them like a line of sparks. I slipped through the shadows, pressing close to the brick buildings that lined the passage. As I approached the end of the alley, it opened into a dead-end space. I listened to the snippets of conversation that floated out.

“They’re gonna cream their pants when we get done with them—”

“Dude, give me that shit. My turn—”

“So I walked in and found Lana fuckin’ some asshole she met at school. She’ll never do that again.”

“What’d you do to her, dude?”

“Gave her a beating she’ll never forget—”

“We ready? My old lady’s been bitchin’ about too many late nights—”

I turned my attention to the man who had beat up his girlfriend. He’d do. He was tall, lithe, with a long braid that hung halfway down his back. His beard and mustache were blond, but his eyes were so dark they were almost black. He was wearing a blue wife-beater and a pair of cargo pants covered with chains. I noticed he had a lead pipe sticking out of one deep pocket on the side of his pants. Oh yeah, he’d do just fine.

I stared at him, focusing on him, willing him to stay behind. Old-school vamps used the trick a lot, but I usually didn’t bother. It felt a little like cheating, but tonight I didn’t care. He’d crossed the line in my book when he bragged about beating his mate.

“I’ll catch up in a minute,” he said as the others moved off down the alley. As they disappeared, my quarry looked around nervously, as if he wasn’t sure why the hell he’d stayed behind. He shivered. I could feel his tension from where I stood. As he moved to follow his buddies, I stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path.

“Going somewhere?” I asked softly, my head down so he couldn’t see the crimson light of my eyes.

“Get out of my way, bitch,” he said, with a hint of contempt.

I raised my head and smiled, my fangs fully extended.

“What the—” He backed up a step.

“Oh baby, don’t run away. I promise, I won’t hurt you like you did your girlfriend.” And then, giving a little hiss, I began to walk toward him, steady strides that played into the fear spreading across his face. Oh yeah, some days being a vampire felt good. The power to intimidate, the power to bring someone so cocky, so sure he was king of the world, to his knees rippled through me. It was a better high than any drug could offer.

He backed up another step, then turned to run, racing toward the wire fence that blocked the end of the alley. I let him go for a few yards, then closed the gap between us in two leaps, landing in front of him.

“Who are you? What do you want?” My man backed away, his voice quivering. “You aren’t human, are you?”

“Only half,” I whispered. “Or at least I was half-human. Before I died.”

“Vampire!” Recognition filled his face, and he tried to squirm around me.

“Not so fast, boy. Recess is over.” I grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against the wall. “Look at me,” I said.

He obeyed, fear clouding his eyes.

“Tell me your name.”

“Jake.”

“Okay, Jake. I want you to tell me, did you really hurt your girlfriend?”

He nodded, unable to stop himself. “Yeah, yeah . . .”

“Did you rough her up?”

Again the unwilling nod. “Yeah.”

“Did you bruise her? Make her bleed?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“And why did you do that?” I wanted him to say it. I wanted to hear his story. It made it easier to do what I had to do.

“She wanted to leave me. She said I roughed her up too much. She found another guy.” His voice was strangled, low, and shaking. I could smell the fear rolling off of him.

“So you taught her a lesson? I bet you enjoyed it, too, didn’t you? You strike me as the kind of man who enjoys knocking his women around. So, what did you do to her lover?” Cat and mouse. Like Delilah, I played with my food before I ate.

He closed his eyes. “Sliced him up. Killed him. Made her help me get rid of the body.”

“I thought as much,” I said. “You’re all the same. Pathetic lowlife scum.” A wave of distaste rushed through me. If I let him go, he’d continue leeching off of society, and he’d end up killing his girl. He’d kill her if she tried to leave, and he’d end up killing her even if she stayed. Women who were caught in an abuser’s trap usually didn’t get away so easily.

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked, his breath ragged. “I don’t want to die. Don’t kill me. Please?”

“How many times has your girlfriend begged you not to hurt her? How many times did you go ahead and mess her up, anyway?” I whispered in his ear, nibbling on the lobe.

He mumbled something, but I ignored it, leaning in to bite him on the neck. As my fangs slid through the flesh, the rich taste of blood welled up, and my restlessness turned to euphoria. I moaned softly, sucking harder, drawing the blood out of his veins, then began lapping the running stream, shuddering as it trickled down my throat.

Jake groaned, his cock growing hard behind his pants as he rubbed against me. I ignored his erection until he wrapped his arms around me, pressing his neck against my lips.

“Don’t stop,” he begged me. “Don’t stop, please . . .”

My desire vanished. I pulled away, staring at the man who was now on his knees in front of me, still rapt in the throes of my charm. Disgusted with him and annoyed with myself, I leaned down. “Listen. I want you to go to the Fangtabula. You know where that is?”

He nodded.

“Good. Go tell them you want to be a blood whore. Tell them you like it rough.”

Jake struggled to his feet. As he stumbled off, I knew that I was sending him to his death. He’d go straight to the club, all right. He was too enthralled to disobey me. And Terrance’s thugs would let him in. Before morning, there’d be one less scuzzball in the world.

Somehow, the thought didn’t please me as much as I wanted it to. Because for every Jake I got rid of, there were a dozen more to take his place. Satiated, done for the night, I turned and went back to the bar.