The Mage in Black (Sabina Kane #2)

The Mage in Black (Sabina Kane #2) Page 40

“Your payment’s late, Tiny,” I whispered in his ear. “The Shade’s not happy.”

“The check’s in the mail!” His voice went up an octave. “I swear.”

I delivered a jab to his kidneys. He grunted and tried to pull away. I grabbed his left arm with my free hand and twisted it up high behind his back. “Not good enough, Tiny.”

He was panting now. A sheen of sweat covered his moon face. “What do you want?”

I had no idea how much Tiny owed Slade. The fact Slade hadn’t requested any broken bones told me it wasn’t huge money. Slade hadn’t asked me to come back with a good-faith deposit on his debt, so I decided to just scare him a little. “You’ve got twenty-four hours. If The Shade isn’t holding cash in his hand this time tomorrow, I’m gonna come back.” I jerked his arm a little higher. He hissed against the pain. I leaned in to whisper. “You don’t want that. ’Cause if I have to step foot in this shithole again, they’ll be calling you No Dick Malone.”

He whimpered.

“Do we understand each other, Tiny?”

He swallowed audibly. “Y-yes.”

“Good boy.” I released his arm and patted his shoulder. I’d planned on making him sit on the bed so I could make a quick exit. But now that he wasn’t being subdued, Tiny freaked. He swung around and clocked me in the chin. My teeth clacked together painfully, and I fell back onto the bed. Tiny’s girth slammed on top of me, pinning me to the mattress. He put his sausage fingers around my neck and squeezed.

“No one threatens me in my own club!”

Pinpoints of light danced in my vision as he cut off my air supply. I grabbed hold of his pinkie and bent it back. But Tiny was pissed and pumped full of adrenaline. If he felt the digit snap, he didn’t react. If anything, his grip tightened.

“I’m gonna cut off your head and send it COD to The Shade.”

My hands groped the bed for something—anything—I could hit him with. A sharp sting on my palm broke through the haze of asphyxiation. The cigarette Tiny dropped earlier. I grabbed the smoldering butt and jabbed it into Tiny’s left eye. The pressure on my neck disappeared, and air rushed into my lungs. Tiny writhed on the floor, his hands covering his ruined eye. I jumped off the bed, ready to get the hell out of Dodge.

That’s when the scent of burned flesh hit me. Combined with Tiny’s cries, the scent took me right back to watching Hawthorne burn. Bile rose in my crushed throat, making me gag. Suddenly, wanting to get out of the room became a desperate need to get out. I tripped over Tiny and stumbled to the door. My fingers clawed at the dead bolt. Finally, the lock turned and I burst into the hall. Two steps later, I slammed through the exit and into the alley behind the building.

Warm spit filled my mouth. I made it ten feet before I doubled over next to a Dumpster. All the bagged blood I’d forced down that morning now forced its way back out onto the filthy pavement. And when it was all gone, bitter bile and dry heaves followed. I felt to my knees and wiped the back of a shaking hand across my mouth. The urge to lie down was strong. But I didn’t have the luxury of indulging my body’s need to rest. It was only a matter of time before Tiny’s men found him and came looking for me.

Using the Dumpster for leverage, I pulled myself off the ground. I took the cell phone Slade had given me out of my jacket pocket as I limped down the alley.

He answered on the first ring.

“Slade? I need help.”

29

He picked me up a few blocks away from the club. When I got in the car, he frowned as his gaze scanned over me. “Are you injured?”

I shook my head and slammed the door. He looked at me hard for a few seconds before deciding I was telling the truth. He eased his black BMW into traffic.

The ride back to Vein didn’t take long, but tension hung thick in the air. I could feel Slade’s unanswered questions pushing against the barrier I’d erected. But he’d kept his mouth shut, and I appreciated him not pressuring me to spill my guts.

But by the time we reached his office, my head felt like a pressure cooker. I went to the bookcases and slammed through the door into my room. Slade hung back. As I closed myself in the tiny bathroom, I heard ice hitting glasses in his office.

In the mirror, my face stared back at me with a stranger’s eyes. Instead of the usual blue, now my irises were almost black with the shadow of fear. I blinked and rubbed my eyes with shaking hands. Refusing to look in the mirror again, I splashed some water on my face and rinsed the sour taste from my mouth.

What was happening to me? Too many half-formed thoughts and troubling memories bumped against each other until I felt like I might go crazy trying to figure it all out myself. Suddenly, the privacy I’d sought in the bathroom became oppressive. I made my way back to Slade’s office.

He leaned against the desk, looking pensive when I returned. When I sat in a chair in front of his desk, he pushed a glass of whiskey in my hand. I lifted it, and the smoky scent made my stomach churn. But I felt cold inside. So cold I felt like I might never be warm again. Ignoring the scent, I tossed back the drink in one gulp. It scorched a path down before it spread its hot fingers through my stomach.

Slade sipped on his own drink and watched me refill the glass. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. Something told me once I opened the floodgates, I’d drown.

Slade nodded, seeming unsurprised by my refusal. “Should I assume something went wrong with Tiny?”

I shook my head. “No, not really.” It wasn’t a lie. I’d accomplished what Slade sent me to do. The message was delivered.

He nodded, absorbing that. “Okay. Do you want me to leave so you can be alone?”

My head jerked up. The idea of being alone scared the shit out of me. Then I’d had nothing but my own black thoughts to keep me company. Slade waited patiently for my decision. He’d shucked the suit coat and now leaned against the desk in slacks and a white dress shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up. The picture of casual confidence. Confidence so in opposition to my own shaky insecurity and fear. As I watched him, something shifted like mercury inside me. Suddenly, wanting him to stay became needing him to stay. Needing him, period.

He seemed to sense the change and held out a hand. I watched him for a moment. The gold flecks in his hazel eyes glowed with something warm. I placed my cold fingers in his hot hand. When he tugged gently, I went with the momentum, right into his arms. I tried to convince myself it was just a friendly, supportive hug, but I knew better. We both did.

His neck was next to my nose, and I inhaled the coppery scent coming from his skin. After weeks surrounded by the sandalwood scent of mages, Slade smelled like coming home.

I had two choices. I could pretend that somehow everything would magically work out and I’d return to mage life. In this scenario, maybe Adam and I would stand a chance. But part of me wasn’t sure I wanted that. Not anymore. The truth was Adam wanted me to be someone I wasn’t. Ever since I’d met him, he’d been nagging me to change, to embrace my mage side. But clearly mage life wasn’t a fit for me, and pretending it was hadn’t done me any favors.

That left me with scenario two. The vampire holding me wasn’t demanding I become someone else. And he was so warm. So solid and vital. I tried to absorb some of that into myself, but I couldn’t get close enough. Not this way.

Slade whispered my name. I lifted my face to look into his hot eyes. He hesitated a split second, as if he expected me to laugh or run. I met his gaze steadily. It was time to start moving on.

His lips warmed mine a second later. I closed my eyes and savored the whiskey taste of his mouth.

Why are you doing this?

Call the voice in my head conscience or self-preservation. Call it plain old common sense. Either way, I ignored it. And when my traitorous brain tried to call up Adam’s face in my head, I slammed the door shut and locked the dead bolt.

Something deeper inside—the raw, throbbing, vulnerable part—craved this. The scent, the feel, the taste of Slade soothed the restlessness that had been squirming inside me for weeks. Letting him take the lead felt good. I’d spent so such time fighting, it was a relief to surrender.

He groaned and deepened the kiss. He slid his hands through my hair, yanking painfully against my scalp.

Yes. Punish me.

I nipped his lips with my fangs. The metallic taste of blood bloomed in my mouth. The potency of his vampire blood gave me a small boost of adrenaline. It fueled the small spark waking in my belly—and below.

The introduction of blood play changed the game. Slade pushed me back against the edge of the desk. He pulled off my tank top, exposing the black lace bra underneath. Soon the bra joined the shirt on the floor. And then his hot, wet mouth was on me. The nipple swelled and tightened. The sharp pain of fang to sensitive skin. I clenched my teeth and grabbed a fistful of his auburn hair. The pleasure–pain sensation of him pulling on the wound almost made me come.

Need’s claws dug into me. This would be no sweet reunion of bodies. No earnest search for mutual fulfillment. I was no longer capable of worrying about right or wrong. My nerves felt exposed and raw, and the only thing that could soothe them was release.

Slade took the hint and grabbed my hips, lifting me onto the desk. Fitting himself between my thighs, he pressed himself to my core. Layers of clothes combined with his hardness and my wetness to create delicious friction.

He nuzzled my throat, breathing deeply at the jugular. “I want to eat you alive.”

Not an idle threat from a vampire. I pushed him away roughly. “No veins. Just fuck me already.”

His swollen lips lifted into a smile. “With pleasure.”

His warm palm pushed against my collarbone. Pushing back with my hands, I shoved the papers behind me off the desk and lay back. Overhead, the lights crowned his head like a halo on a fallen angel, casting his face in shadow.

Good.

His hands at my zipper. The scrape of jeans at my hips. Lifting my ass to accommodate their trip south. I spread my knees without shame. Cool air tickled my hot flesh, heightening the anticipation.