Immortal Craving (Dark Dynasties) (11 page)

Most would have died long before now. Its host had been chosen well.

The beast got to its feet, looking around. When Tasmin was alert, it was harder to see, a struggle to stay aware of what was going on around him. Only occasionally, when something piqued its interest, did it bother with the effort to shove Tasmin’s wakened soul aside and take over.

Meeting the mortal woman had been such an occasion. For them both, it seemed, since Tasmin had never
put up such a fight to stay in control. The mind had simply shut down in self-defense for a time. Then they had come here, to the woman’s home… and it seemed Tasmin had returned.

It smiled, and he felt the corners of Tasmin’s mouth turn up. Yes, it liked this body, if it had to have one. It made pleasure so much more… tangible.

Silently, it padded through the house, examining the trappings of the woman’s life.
Bailey
. He drank the word from the slumbering consciousness at the center of this body. Yes, that was her name. This place smelled of her, a warm,
alive
smell, with hints of cinnamon and vanilla. So fitting, for such a delectable treat. She fascinated it. Tasmin wanted her sexually, a waste. The beast wanted to make far better use of her. Bailey would be its pet, its pupil in the art of pain. It imagined taking her blood in teasing little sips, making her watch while it sated its hunger for blood and destruction with others. Her screams, her fear would be divine. Was that the attraction? That she didn’t fear it? Yes, the beast thought it was. So it would teach her what fear was. Tenderly. Thoroughly.

But not yet. Not quite yet. Tonight, only a taste.

The beast ran Tasmin’s hands over fabric, enjoying the different textures beneath his fingers. It looked at pictures under glass, picked up and put down trinkets, interested in these scattered trappings of mortal life. Not for long, though. The thirst that drove it pulsed through Tasmin’s veins in time with his heart, never quite sated, always searching for more.

But then, hunger was its purpose, and it hungered for many things.

It ran Tasmin’s tongue over his teeth, feeling the fangs
so suited to ripping and tearing. Need warred with reason. It didn’t want to hunt more of what it had been forced to subsist on: deer and raccoon, rabbit and fox, with nary a mortal to break the tedium. The Ptolemy had been an amusing diversion, meeting its need for bloodshed, but to drink from them would have robbed this body of its singularity. It did not need Ptolemy blood in these veins.

Rakshasa blood was stronger, so that is what it would stay. For now. Until it could be free once again. One day soon, it would find the woman who had done this to it, binding it to this flesh creature, body and soul. It would get Arsinöe alone, and it would make her pay. But first, she would unbind it. It would make sure of that. Did she truly think it powerless just because she had linked its survival to this vampire’s beating heart? It had ways to make her pay, make her scream until she set it free. Could another do it? Unlikely, but… perhaps. And yet it had to be Arsinöe. She would never dare try to destroy it in the vulnerable seconds as it finally emerged. It knew the rite she would use, had seen it done. If only it could manage the ritual itself… but this body did not hold the knowledge of the darkest magics. No, it needed
her
, by design. And she wanted… something.

Why had she done this, dragging it out of the blissful darkness and entombing it within a living body? It had its suspicions. And if they were correct, the Ptolemy queen’s punishment would be all the more brutal… and all the sweeter.

She had no idea what she was dealing with.

All Hunger needed was a little more time. A little more control over this strong, stubborn Rakshasa. Sometimes it wished killing Tasmin outright was an option. Operating a
corpse would have been less trouble. But then, there were upsides to being forced to share space.

Such keen senses to enjoy. Such power.

So many ways to kill.

The runner on the stairs was soft beneath Tasmin’s feet, a fascinating change from the cool hardwood floor. Hunger took the steps one at a time, making no sound. It had grown expert at operating this body to its fullest potential when it had control. It passed dark and silent rooms, heading for the door that was cracked open at the end of the hall.

Another scent stopped it. It curled Tasmin’s lip.

Dog
.

Something would need to be done about that.

It closed Tasmin’s eyes, pulling the needed magic from the recesses of memory. Tasmin’s body reacted without any instruction, so ingrained was this ability. Power rippled down his arms, through his torso, all to pool as a ball of pale golden light in his cupped hands. It opened Tasmin’s eyes to study it, still thrilling at having such a power to use whenever it wished. Then, with a simple push of the mind, the ball of light shot from Tasmin’s hands and into the sliver of darkness that was the room beyond. There was a flash of light, and then… nothing.

Both dog and woman should now be caught deep in dreams, thralled in sleep and unable to waken until it was ready to allow it.

Unconcerned now, it padded the rest of the way down the hall and opened the door.

Even in darkness, Tasmin’s eyesight was crystal clear. At the foot of a massive bed sprawled the dog, a big black thing that foolishly thought it could guard its mistress.
Hunger spared the dog only a passing glance, uninterested in its dreams of vapid dog things. No, the true interest lay curled in a tangle of blankets and sheets, breathing softly.

It moved silently to the edge of the bed and looked down.

Her head was the only part of her body that was visible, the rest concealed by a mound of covers. A swift wave of the hand, and the coverings departed to reveal the slim, curvaceous form that so preoccupied Tasmin’s waking thoughts. She was curled into herself, knees up, hands tucked against her chest. Her breaths were slow and even, lips slightly parted.

Lovely.

Tasmin’s tongue flickered out to lick his lips. Hunger already imagined how she would taste, sweet and rich as cream. How much to take tonight? How weak would it leave her? It reached out one of Tasmin’s hands, trailed a finger down the warm, silken skin of her arm. To its surprise, she stirred with a soft little moan.

Curious, it sank down to sit on the bed beside her. Even in the deep, unnatural sleep, she sensed him. It.
Them
. But how?

Again, it pulled from Tasmin’s reserves of strength and power, then reached out and dipped into Bailey’s thoughts. A different sort of tasting, but satisfying in its own way. Mortals were foolish, dreaming of things they could not have and would never do. Such fruitless longing had a flavor all its own.

It lifted Tasmin’s hand again, stroked the back of it down Bailey’s cheek as images began to swim in its head. It closed its eyes, and for a brief moment was lost in the sensation of what she was experiencing. There was a warm night breeze, redolent with earth and life. Soft grass. Bodies entangled, so soft, so hot…

When it was yanked out of the fantasy with a painful jerk, it gave a rough cry. The body was thrown backward by some unseen force, and Tasmin ended up sprawled on the floor beside the bed.

“Get… out… of my…
head
!”

Tasmin’s voice, under Tasmin’s control. The Rakshasa was awake and furious at once, forcing Hunger back into the dark nest it had made deep in Tasmin’s chest. Caught badly off guard, Hunger barely put up a fight.
Impossible!
The word was a silent scream as it was pushed back. Whenever Tasmin began to struggle for awareness, it was never like this, never all at once.
How?
It would have to consider this while it lay curled up to wait again, unsatisfied.
Hungry
.

And then there was only Tasmin, shaking on the floor of Bailey’s bedroom, clutching his head, barely able to draw in a full breath. His eyes darted around the room as panic threatened to overwhelm him. His vision blurred and doubled, and exhaustion swamped him almost as suddenly as he’d regained awareness. He felt foul, violated, as though someone or something had been using him carelessly without his knowledge or permission.

Just as Shakti had warned him. The healer had been so sure about the demon.

And Tasmin had been so determined not to believe him.

He couldn’t fight the truth any longer. He’d heard the demon screaming as he’d overtaken it, shoving it back into whatever dark recess it had carved out for itself inside of him. But… how had he done that? Before, it had always been like waking up from a long sleep, groggy and confused.

This time, his awareness had returned almost violently, and all at once. The demon hadn’t been expecting
it, he felt that strongly. It had been engrossed in… in such sweet dreams.

All at once, it registered where he was.

The demon had brought him to Bailey’s bedroom. Somehow, spying on her dreams had triggered what had happened. He didn’t understand. Not anything, right now. All Tasmin knew was that he had never felt so fiercely protective in his life.

Or so afraid.

Tasmin tried to rise to his feet and could not. His legs simply wouldn’t hold him. Bailey and Grimm were silent and still—too much so. The demon again, but his own power. Tasmin cringed. This
thing
had made a mockery of the code he had always tried to hold himself to.

He managed to grip the edge of the bed and pull himself up to look at her.

Please be all right, Bailey. Please.

Relief flooded him as soon as he could see her face, and his legs threatened to go out from under him again. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t hurt her. Her slow, even breaths sounded like music, and beneath them, Tasmin savored the lower register of Grimm’s gentle snores.

He had made it stop. Somehow, this one time, he had made it stop. But his victory had come at a price. The body he’d just won back seemed to be reacting poorly to the quick change.

Maybe he would die this time, Tasmin thought. Maybe he would close his eyes and it would end. The room began to fade, his vision swimming. He wanted only one thing in that moment: comfort.

He had taken so much already. Could it hurt that badly to take just a bit more if it caused no harm?

Before he could think better of it and just collapse on the floor, Tasmin managed to haul himself onto the bed, dragging himself to lay alongside Bailey’s warmth. He didn’t touch her, only basked in her nearness as he sank into the softness of the mattress. He was so wretchedly tired. Tasmin fixed his hazy vision on the golden tumble of her curls spread over the pillow and wished this were a different time, a different place—that he were the sort of man who would have been invited into this bed.

Then his thoughts scattered as his body gave up for the night, drained by something he could neither see nor control. Tasmin’s body relaxed, giving itself over to the dark bliss of unconsciousness.

And beside him, Bailey dreamed on.

T
HE POUNDING ON THE DOOR
woke her up.

Bay surfaced slowly from sleep to a strange thudding sound coming from downstairs. Her eyes took a few seconds to open. They felt glued shut, and she was as groggy as she might have been if she’d been up all night. The muffled voice was what finally got her moving.

“Bay? You in there?”

It was Shelby’s voice, and the fear in it was unmistakable. As quickly as she could, Bay threw off the covers and swung her legs off the side of the bed, stumbling a little as she got to her feet. Her body felt lethargic, almost
too
well rested. Still, she managed to propel herself forward, shoving her hair out of her face as she passed a yawning Grimm.

What the hell time was it anyway?

A glance over her shoulder at the little alarm clock on her nightstand displayed a time that woke her as effectively as a cold glass of water over the head. Two in the afternoon?

Seriously?

“Bay? If you don’t open up, I’m calling the cops, I mean it!”

Shelby didn’t just sound scared, she sounded terrified. And Bay couldn’t blame her, considering Lily’s “abduction” had been big news last fall.

“Coming,” Bay called, trying to sound reassuring. Instead, she sounded like her voice had been dragged through mud and gravel. She cleared her throat and tried it again, more successfully this time. That finally made the door pounding stop.

Bay got down the stairs quickly enough and cast a suspicious glance toward the family room. There was no sound, not a hint of movement. It only took her a second to figure out Tasmin was gone.

And after that, it took her no time at all to figure out why she and Grimm had slept all day.

“Bastard,” she muttered. He’d seemed so sweet and lost last night. It was probably a good thing he’d now reminded her of one of the prime reasons she had a hard time trusting vampires. No matter how good they might appear, none of them seemed to be able to help messing with people’s heads, and it sounded like that was his
special
area.

She flipped the dead bolt and opened the door partway, knowing she must look like a
Walking Dead
extra. Shelby’s horrified expression only confirmed that.

“Bay. Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Um. Yes?” Bay shoved her curls out of her face again and tried to determine whether she was, in fact, okay. Her brain simply refused to kick in enough for her to figure it out. The only thing she was sure of was that she was going to kick Tasmin’s ass if she ever saw him again.

“Whassamatter?” Bay asked, and then licked her lips, trying again
without
the mush mouth. “What’s the matter, Shelby?”

“You were supposed to be in at noon. You’re never late. And you never just don’t show up, so we thought… well…” Shelby shuffled her feet nervously. “I called a bunch of times. Didn’t you hear the phone?”

Phone. How the hell had she missed that? And her appointments. Yes, she did have a job. She smushed her hand into her face and groaned.

Bay could no longer see Shelby, or much of anything as long as she was rubbing her face, but the girl still sounded like she thought there might be a serial killer somewhere in the house.