Bound Through Blood (2 page)

Still restless, Devin continued to scour the dark streets for prey. Then something called to him like a siren in the night, and it took him only five blocks to find her. He found a shapely brunette with hair as dark as midnight and a fair complexion that echoed the full moon. She was in a phone booth tapping her foot restlessly while she argued with the person on the other end of the line.

"Because my cell phone died." Devin heard the vixen say in a tense voice. In human form, he approached the booth and slid the door open.

"Just a damn minute!" the woman yelled at him without even turning around.

He reached around her and pressed the hook down.

The woman turned abruptly shouting, "What the hell?" but when her blue eyes met the middle of a man's chest, her onslaught was swallowed and replaced with fear. Slowly, Salena looked up into an extremely attractive face with intense black eyes that frightened her to the core, yet, inexplicably, excited her too.

Devin leaned down and purred in her ear, "I've been looking for you."

Salena was overcome with panic, but her legs wouldn't move. It was not because this massive man filled the small booth blocking any escape route. It was not because he was breathtakingly handsome. It was not because he had the most erotic fragrance she'd ever inhaled and the sexiest, most seductive voice she'd ever heard. It was because of the way he looked at her—he wasn't giving her a choice. His hand clasped her hip, and the heat from his touch seemed to sear her flesh right through her clothing. This made her cheeks flush as a heat settled lower in her abdomen.

Devin inhaled and chuckled—he knew he was affecting her. He leaned in to tease her perfect, full lips; he needed to savor this beautiful creature. Something about her was truly enticing to him, something that set her apart from the others, and he wanted to take his time with the seduction. There was no one around to interrupt him this time.

As he deepened his kiss and let his hands roam over her form, she began to respond by pressing against him and sucking on his tongue.

Salena tried to stop herself. While her body betrayed her common sense, her mind was wondering what in God's name she thought she was doing making out with a complete stranger in a phone booth! But heaven help her, there was something irresistibly sexy about him. She pressed her breasts into his large, solid chest and before she could protest, not that she was sure she would have, he ripped her blouse open and began kissing the tops of her soft mounds. A smoldering flame settled into her nipples, and her hands clutched his long hair urging him to continue. And so he did, by tearing her bra open as well. Thinking she should care that he was ruining her outfit, and that they were in a public area, she hesitated her writhing and looked at him, ready to tell him to stop. His tongue was setting flickers of fire to her rosy tips, and she felt a tiny nip that hurt but also teased—this made a moan come from her lips instead of the protest she'd intended. Her body continued to be deliciously tormented by his mouth as his hands moved, hiking her skirt further up her milky white thighs. She wanted to object, but the words were lost in ragged gasps as flames of passion consumed her. Her thighs began to move with a motion of drawing apart and closing together; her body was communicating its desire to have a part of him slipping back and forth within the moisture and tightness there. He obliged to her unspoken request by stroking his palm over her concealed mound, using slow circular movements to stoke the flames engulfing her. She felt her intimate parts swell even further and ached for him to deepen his touch. As if he read her thoughts, he blazed a path of kisses down her neck, while forcing the fabric of her panties aside, and began his circular movements once more—this time on her taught pearl. Her hips lunged forward in response while she clutched at his expansive shoulders. Thoughts of fleeing, again, entered her mind and, again, they were pushed aside by the torment of passion wracking her body.

As if he read her thoughts, Devin whispered against her neck, "Shh, it's useless to resist." His tongue flickered over her quickening pulse as her fingernails ground into his solid pecs, urging him on. He used one finger to slip through the softness of her dampened petals while his left hand extended her right arm. Devin wanted just a taste, for now, so his kisses trailed her arm up to her wrist, which was pinned above her head. He shallowly bit into her wrist, not wanting to spill too much blood just yet; he was too intoxicated with this woman to not make it last. As a trickle of the sweet nectar entered his mouth, his mind screamed to stop; something was wrong with this picture, with this woman. Completely uncharacteristic of him, he dropped her arm and broke away into the blackness.

Salena, stunned by his rash departure and even more so by her own behavior, pulled her clothing together and hurried to her car before he could return and resume his seduction.

As soon as he reached the cover of trees, Devin turned to watch her flee. He couldn't understand his own actions; he never ran away from anything and he'd certainly never let his prey go free before. There was still a lingering taste from the small amount of blood he'd taken from her. It was the sweetest, most enticing flavor Devin could recall tasting, and he'd have to have more. Finding her may take time but would not be impossible. Fortunately, the hormones in the blood give each woman a unique flavor, while the pheromones provide a unique scent.

His mind went back to her scent; she'd smelled like honeysuckle and lavender. Then his thoughts lingered over her beauty—she had porcelain pale skin and black hair, which fell past her shoulders and was just as dark as his. He remembered her full red lips and her having the bluest of eyes, too, and a peculiar sense of familiarity caused a chill to run down his spine. He brushed it off and recalled the sweetness of her womanly response to his touch. This made his groin grow thick and heavy and press against its cloth confines—now he definitely needed to find this woman.

With that thought, he shape-shifted into a black crow and began to scour the city. There were many opportunities to stop for a snack, but this latest creature was now his obsession, so he pressed on—he was a starving beast on the hunt. Her black car was hard to find in the darkness among the other cars on the busy roads; not to mention he didn't know which direction she'd gone. No matter, he would find her. Self-doubt was not in his vocabulary.

Salena woke late Monday morning with perspiration on her forehead; what a dream she'd had. Much to her disappointment, it had ended before it really took off. She tried to remember all the sultry details when she noticed a slight stinging in her wrist. Looking down, a wave of panic washed over her; there was a bite mark. It was barely visible, but it was there. It hadn't been just a dream,
just a
sex dream,
she thought, and shame flooded her face, as she recalled losing all her senses around the mysterious man; she was not in the habit of having sex with strangers, especially in a public place.

Inhaling deeply, she picked up a faint scent of musk from the blouse she still wore; the torn blouse she still wore. She held the silky material to her nose and breathed in the scent of him. An immediate response emanated from her most sensitive spot and caused her to feel more humiliation. She had never behaved like a floozy until last night.

She wondered what had made him stop and run away. Even more so, she wondered why he bit her. Was this something new in sex? Granted, it had been a while…

Something flickered about the bite in the back of her mind—an article she'd read. She scrambled out of bed and into the kitchen to grab her paper,
The Times-Picayune
, which was lying on the countertop. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for; a story about a college student, found dead in her apartment late Saturday night, graced the front page. The article stated that the cause of death had not yet been determined, but faint markings on her skin, possibly from an animal bite, were found. Also, evidence of sexual activity was present, so they were looking for a male suspect.

Salena turned on the local news to see if there was any follow up, and what she heard sent a tremor of fear running down her spine; another female victim had been discovered late last night. She also had a bite mark and, again, evidence of sexual activity was present. Additionally, a young male had been found dead with a broken neck. Authorities were not sure if the recent murders were related and they currently had no suspects. Police were looking into all three and trying to find witnesses.

She looked at her wrist and felt a wave of nausea overcome her. Thoughts raced through her mind; she may know who the killer of those poor women is. She very well could have been his next victim. Why did she escape when the others had not?
Wait, she didn't escape, he ran away… why?
What should she do now—call the police? How could she describe to the authorities what had happened, and almost happened, in that phone booth without lying to them? She couldn't call it attempted rape when she didn't try to fight him off herself. She went back to the newspaper article and read that the sexual activity found present was not being classified as rape at this time.

This was all so strange, and she didn't do well with strange.

Needing to relax and enjoy what was left of the first day of her vacation from work at The Edgar Degas House, where she works as a tour guide, Salena decided to work on her oil painting. She hoped it would take her mind off the events of last night and the news. She'd been working on a serene springtime setting. She'd painted flowers, trees, a duck pond with baby ducklings, and a fountain so far. Deciding to finish the duck pond, she engrossed herself in the intricate details of adding a graceful swan treading water, when her cell phone rang and startled her. She dropped her brush onto the floor, spattering paint everywhere. In her absentmindedness, she had forgotten to put the drop cloth down first, so now she had a colorful splotch on her plush carpet. "Shit!" she cursed as she reached for the phone. No name came up on the display, but she recognized the number; she'd called that number thousands of times over the course of two years. It was Eric—her deepest and last love.

Staring at the phone like she'd never seen one before, she wondered why she'd be hearing from him now, after all this time—two years, three months, and seventeen days to be exact. She answered his call, but with trepidation, "Hello?"

"Salena?" the deep, sexy voice she'd loved so much carried her back to another lifetime. "It's Eric, Eric Buchanan. How are you beautiful?"

"Hi, Eric, I'm fine, but why are you calling?" She caught herself biting her nails while waiting for his answer.

"Well, I'm back in town on business, and I hoped to see you tonight for an early dinner or drinks. Do you still live on Canal Street?"

She hesitated to confirm. "Yes, but—"

He cut her off, "No buts. I'll be there in a half hour." The phone clicked, and he was gone.

How dare him!
Salena was fuming mad. Typical Eric, always calling the shots, like when he had proposed to her with a hefty price tag—marry him and move to New York, or...

She had chosen "or." Her career was as important to her, as his was to him. If he'd loved her enough to propose, it should have been enough to stay in the home they'd made here, together. There were probably still a few of his things left over in her closet, buried—just like her feelings.

She looked down at her clothes and arms. She was wearing her old paint-and-grass stained work clothes and had paint all over her hands and forearms. That'll teach him to not give her any notice.

Eric showed up promptly in thirty minutes, just as prompt as always, and with a bouquet of her favorite flowers—painted daisies. He looked as sexy and handsome as ever, and he had definitely dressed up to see her. He was in a black suit with a deep blue tie. Eric wore that tie before. "To match your eyes," he had told her.

"So," she said with raised eyebrows and still in her work clothes, "This was a formal, impromptu dinner, drink thing then?"

Eric's laughter echoed on the porch, "I always did love your sense of humor."

"Who's joking?" she gave him an angry glare. "You didn't give me any notice. I don't really appreciate that," she snapped at him.

Eric looked down in shame at his shiny black dress shoes. "Well, it's good to see you too, and sorry."

"Hello and you should be. I'm going to go change my clothes." Salena put down her paintbrush and stormed off to her bedroom, shutting the door with more force than she needed to. The nerve of him to put her on the spot like that; she hated it.

The truth is, though, his confidence and arrogance were also features that had attracted Salena to him when they'd met—she had always preferred strong men. She had met Eric almost five years ago, not long after she'd moved to New Orleans. She was at a bistro, enjoying a latte and reading the paper one late morning, when a forward—albeit gorgeous—man sat down at her table, uninvited. When she'd looked up at him, he had smiled cockily and told her, "You're new in town. You must be; I'd never forget such a beautiful woman." Then, before she could say anything in response, he'd handed her a business card and excused himself for a meeting. Insulted, she'd thrown the card in the trash, without even looking at it. However, he had managed to find her again, on another occasion, and acting like a gentleman that time, she'd found him pleasant—and their torrid love affair began.

In the midst of her reverie and changing her clothes, Salena suddenly felt warm hands on her shoulders and hot breath, followed by even hotter kisses, on her neck. Even after all this time, he remembered her passion points, and he was hitting every one of them. He turned her around and held her face in one strong hand while the other unfastened her bra.

"I've missed you," he said against her cheek, and then he took her mouth prisoner.

Salena couldn't help but let Eric, the man she'd loved with all her heart, consume her. She'd missed him too, terribly; she'd not even dated since their romance had ended. No man could compare to him. He was handsome, strong, intelligent, witty, confident, sexy, and
damn, he can kiss
she was reminded.

Just as he left her mouth to move down to a cupped breast, she felt her own hands, having a mind of their own, opening his shirt. His torso was as lean and muscled as it had been when he had left, and it still turned her on; she raked her nails down it and circled his nipples while he suckled on hers. Salena tossed her head back with a low moan.
Should I really be letting him do this? Oh, definitely, yes.

Her shorts and pink cotton panties were now around her ankles, and he slipped a hand between her thighs to stroke her petal-soft folds. His feather-light touches caused her to ache to the very core.

Wasting no time, she helped him remove his suit jacket, tie, and shirt while he freed his fully engorged staff from its confines. He picked her up, ravishing her mouth with his plunging tongue, and carried her to the bed. He lay down above her, still kissing her deeply, and then with an arm around her, he rolled over putting her on top; this was always his favorite. She eased him into her body, moving down slowly to feel every inch of him grace her slippery softness. In unison, they cried out at the sensation of joining their bodies in splendid rapture. Salena arched her back and rocked in fluid movement, taking him in as far as he could go. Eric matched her movements with quick, rigid thrusts that created a shuddering response inside her hot, convulsing center. Screams of pleasure filled the room as their measured, unrelenting rhythm brought them both to their blinding moment of release. Then gasps for air were punctuated with kisses, as she fell softly to his side, in pure bliss, and fell asleep in his embrace.