Hotter Than Hell (41 page)

Her jeans were uncomfortably wet, and she was starting to sweat under her arms. Her neck prickled, and she was suddenly aware of empty hunger. She was starving.

“I’ll do your report up for you. Come by, sign it in the morning. Look, Selene—” He offered her his hand and she took it, nervous sweat slicking her palm. He pulled her to her feet. The car’s windows were frosted with vapor.
How long was I in there?

He also firmly took his hand away from her, tearing her fingers free.

Selene would have kept his hand, run her thumb along the crease on the inside of his wrist, wet her lips with her tongue. Her eyes met his. She
needed
, and he was male. Women were also good for what she needed, but there weren’t any around.

“I’m sorry,” Jack continued awkwardly. He was starting to sweat now, too, looking down until he realized he was looking at her chest, then staring up over her shoulder at the circus of lights and people in uniforms milling around. “Christ, I’m sorry. Lena…I’m so sorry.”

Selene crossed her arms, cupped her elbows in her hands. Jack took her upper arm, kicked the cruiser’s door shut, and steered her away from the hive of activity the street had become. People were starting to peek through their windows, lights were coming on. The cops were too busy to pay much attention to one lone woman being led away by Detective Pepper—especially when some of them recognized her as his tame spook, the woman that had broken the Bowan case last month. Just how she did it nobody knew—but then again, nobody wanted to know. The girl was just too weird. And Pepper was starting to look a little weird himself. The joke was that he’d apply for the new Spook Squad soon, just as soon as he could get his head out of a bottle and quit working hopeless freezer-cold homicide cases.

Selene shivered, hugging herself, their easy dismissal of her roaring through the open wound she was becoming.
I’ve got to get home before I start to scream. I’m in bad shape.

“You’re pretty worn out,” Jack said, diffidently. “Look, go home. I’m sorry, Lena. I’m glad you called me. I wish you wouldn’t have gone up there.” He stopped near a pool of convenient shadow, and Selene looked up.

Nikolai was there. Part of the darkness itself, his long black coat melding with the gloom that filled an alley’s entrance.

Jack faced her. Here, numb and shocked, with her shields thin and the aftermath of the Power she’d jacked and the magick she’d worked pounding in her pulse with insistent need, she drowned in what
he
was feeling.

Agonizing pain. Nausea. Sick aching in his chest, the heartburn that wouldn’t go away—
she shouldn’t have to see this, shouldn’t have seen it.

Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s bad, Selene. Something I ain’t never seen before. And Nikolai says it’s not human. Which means…” His brown eyes were almost black in the uncertain light. “Christ,” he finished, when she just stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Her breath rasped in the chill rainwashed air. “Just go home. Come by the station tomorrow to sign your statement. I’m sorry.”

Selene shrugged. “Great. Just go home, he says.” She heard the funny breathless tone in her own voice. She was close to the edge, so close—did Jack think she was numb and grieving? Or did he guess that she wouldn’t be able to grieve until the need pounding in her blood was blotted out?

Grieve, hell.
There was something sharp as a broken bone in her chest.
I’m going to get whoever did this.

Nikolai stepped forward. His eyes were depthless. “I will take her, Jack. Thank you.”

Jack nodded. “Go with—”

“Like a good little girl, right?” Her voice sounded shrill even to herself, it bounced off the alley’s walls and came back to her through a layer of cotton wool. “What I’m hearing is that you’re not going to work too hard, because it’s a P-fucking-C. Right?”

Jack’s shoulders hunched as if she’d hit him. “Paranormal cases are technically not the jurisdiction of the Saint City police force, until the new laws go into effect. They’re the jurisdiction of—”

“Of the reigning prime paranormal Power in the city.” She stepped away from Jack and his hand fell down to his side, releasing her. “Which means Nikolai. Which means I can kiss any hope of finding out who did this to my brother goodbye.”

“Not necessarily.” Nikolai’s eyes never left her. He moved closer, not precisely crowding her, but stepping past Jack without so much as glancing at the detective. “Cooperate with me, Selene, and I will see the killer brought to you, for your revenge. Will you take that bargain?”

Jack coughed, uncomfortably. “I’ve got to go. Sorry, Selene.”

You son of a bitch. Both of you.
“Are you really,” she said, flatly, and turned on her heel. She put her head down, started to walk. At least she wasn’t staggering.
Oh, God. Danny. What happened to you? Who did this to you?

Nikolai murmured something behind her—no doubt talking to Jack, something along the lines of
women, irrational, what can you do, she’ll see reason in the morning.

It was too much. Rage and something like a sob made flesh draw tighter and tighter under her breastbone, and the tension snapped.

Selene ran.

BY THE TIME SHE REACHED CLIFF STREET, SHE WAS
stumbling. She’d fallen once, scraping her palms on pavement, and scrambled to her feet, looking up to see a shadow flitting over a rooftop above her. He didn’t even have the decency to try and conceal himself.

Her hands jittered. Her keys jangled, her scraped palms singing in pain. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. Sweat rolled down her spine, soaked into the waistband of her jeans.

She checked the street behind her, deserted under the orange streetlamps. It took her three tries to unlock the door to her apartment building, her breath coming high and harsh and fast, expecting to feel a hand closing on her shoulder at any moment.

The run up her own stairs took on a nightmarish quality, moving too slowly while something chased her from behind. Those had been the worst dreams when she was little, running through syrup while the monster snarled behind, gaining on her.

Doors. Her
own
door. She fumbled out her keys, tried to unlock it, made a short sound of agonized frustration when her fingers slipped.

Finally the key slid into the lock.

She twisted it, opened her door, yanked the key out, kicked the door shut with a resounding slam. She threw the deadbolt, then turned around and hurled her keys down her dark hall.

Nikolai plucked the keyring out of the air, his signet ring glittering. One moment her pretty, spacious one-bedroom apartment was empty—the next moment, a slight breeze brushed Selene’s cheek and she let out a strangled scream. The protections placed in the walls of her apartment and the whole building shuddered with a sound like a crystal wineglass ringing, stroked just right.
Don’t worry, nobody will hear it, I’m the only Talent in the building. A merry little party, just Nikolai and me.

Selene whirled and started trying to unbolt the door. Her sweat-slick fingers slipped against cold metal.
Christ why can’t he leave me ALONE?

“Stop.” He was suddenly
there,
laying the keys down on the small table by the front door. His fingers bit into her shoulder and he yanked her back, locked the second deadbolt with his other hand. The sound of the lock going home was the clang of a prison cell closing.

Selene heard her own harsh sobs, the low moaning sound of a strangled scream.

Nikolai slid the coat off her shoulders while he dragged her along. Tossed it over the back of the couch as he pulled her into the living room. Then he grabbed the canvas strap of her bag, wrapped it around his fist, and jerked it up over her head. Selene let out a short cry, cut off midway when he clamped his free hand over her mouth. He dropped the bag on the couch as well, and looked down at her.

Silence, except for the muffled sounds slipping past his fingers. Fire raced up her side, tearing through her ribs—the stitch in her side, getting worse. Her calves were burning too. Her lower back ached, and her palms were scraped raw.

Worse than that was the miserable, hot, prickling need slamming through her. The low, relentless burn between her legs, spreading through her entire body. Now that she wasn’t running, it returned. When would she start to beg?

He considered her, cocking his head to one side. A few soft strands of black hair fell over his forehead. “I told you not to look.” There was no inflection to his voice, it was a passionless murmur. “But look you must. Are you happy? Are you
satisfied?
”

Selene’s shoulders slumped.
I could bite him. What would he do if I bit him? Would he hold me down and
…

Nikolai let out a low pent breath. It was for effect—he didn’t need to breathe, did he? He only did it when he
wanted
to.

He slid one hand around her waist, flattened it against the small of her back. His fingers scorched through her sweater. “I forgive you much.” His hand exerted a little pressure, enough that she shifted back away from him, resisting. “I forgive you because you are young, and because you are unique, and because you amuse me.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Sometimes you even surprise me, which is rare. But sometimes, my Selene, I wonder if I forgive
too
much.”

She tried to twist free, but he had her, one hand on the small of her back, the other over her mouth. Tears trickled down her cheeks. He pulled her close to him, closer, until she could feel something very definitely alive pressing against her belly, through his jeans and her sweater.
I could give a lecture on this,
she thought hysterically.
Vampire Anatomy: Dead or Alive? I never even knew a Nichtvren could
get
a hard-on—they didn’t cover that in the textbooks.

It was her effect on him—her effect on any man. Maybe it was pheromones, maybe it was only her cursed power making sure it could complete itself. Nikolai had known what she was the first time he smelled her.

Or so he said.

“Now,” he said, leaning down just a little, whispering in her ear. “You disobeyed me. You tossed my last gift to you away like a piece of trash. You also acted as a complete fool, dropping your defenses and working the Art while you sat in the back of a police car. And I saw where you found the Power for that trick, my sweet.” He was murmuring, and Selene shut her eyes. Her entire body shook now, straining against his, recognizing that here was something it
needed.
Something that could take the ache away. “I wonder how you’re feeling.”

He took a step, and let her move too, back toward the bedroom. Only the nightlight in the hall broke the darkness of her apartment, but that would present no difficulty to him. Not to a Nichtvren, who could see in complete dark.

“Well?” He moved, his legs bumping hers.

Selene’s body betrayed her. Her hips jerked forward and her hands came up, sliding along his arms to find his shoulders and clenching, trying to pull him forward. Her lips parted, and she sobbed in a breath behind his hand. Two.

I hate myself.
It was the only clear thought in the straining welter of sensation she’d become, her curse awake and alive under her skin.
I hate him and I hate myself.
She tasted salt, and kissed his palm, her lips softening, unable to help herself.

“I see,” he continued, pitilessly. “The succubus needs her food.”

That’s not what I am!
She wanted to scream, but his hand was still over her mouth.

“You are the only
tantraiiken
of adult age to walk the earth freely for five hundred years, and you do so because of my protection.” He moved her back a step at a time, toward the bedroom. “If I were cruel, dear one, sweet Selene, I’d chain you in a stone cell and let you suffer. Let you burn for a little while, until you better appreciated me and the liberty I allow you.” Then he gave a bitter little laugh, and Selene went liquid against him, relieved. She knew that sound.

He would give her what she needed. He would make it
stop.

Then she could do what she had to do. Find out who had done…
that
…to Danny.

“Please,” she mouthed against his palm, before she could stop herself. “Nikolai.”

I am such a whore.
Loathing filled her mouth like spilled wine, added another complex layer to the straining need pounding in her blood.

“Hush.” He pushed her through the bedroom door, kicked it shut. She flinched, shaking so hard she couldn’t walk, and he pushed her down on the bed. She landed hard, her head flung back, her back arching. The covers were still thrown back.

Danny,
the part of her that wasn’t crazed with need sobbed.
Danny. Oh, my God. My brother is dead, and what am I doing? God help me.

He stood there, watching her shake against the cotton sheets. Selene bit her lower lip. That was a mistake—the pain now fed the loop of sensation, fear and pain and lust driving in a circle that wrung shuddering little sounds from her.

Finally, he shed his coat, draping it over the chair set by the closet. Selene closed her eyes, twisting, her hips rising, falling back down. Her clothes were impossibly hot, confining, scraping against suddenly sensitive skin.

He knelt down, and worked her damp boots off, and her socks. Touched the inside of her ankle with a fingertip, under the damp cuff of her jeans. The touch sent a spark racing up her leg, through her entire body. “Selene.” Why did he have to sound so
human
, so soft and reasonable? “I wanted to save you that sight.”