Deep Deliverance: The Deep Series, Book 3 (5 page)

“Okay.” Adin spoke the word against Donte’s shoulder. “All right. I’ll go.”

Donte caught Adin’s hand and kissed each of his fingers. “So, I guess you’ve smoked this before?”

“A few times. I’ve never been much of a partier.” Adin took the blunt from him, blew off the ash, and took a hit. “Listen, if I come back and find you lying on the basement couch, covered in Cheese Puffs—if you ever call me
dude
—” Adin made a tower of perfect little smoke rings that looked like a child’s stacking toy in reverse. “I’m revoking your
green
card.”

“I don’t think I will. It’s novel. Not uninteresting.”

“Like me.” Adin reached for his jeans.

When he leaned over to put them on, Donte gave his naked ass a swat. “Exactly.”

Adin left him alone in the greenhouse. Presumably he’d gone to clean himself up and pack. Donte spoke quietly. “You have won this skirmish, Cristiano, but not, I think, the war.”

Was that an answering bark of laughter at his words? If it was, at that point Donte couldn’t have cared less.

C
hapter Seven

The next morning, Adin picked up his rolling suitcase and left the cabin. He’d made a bargain of sorts with Sean and Santos—he’d let them mentor him, help him to acclimate himself into his new life, in return for their protection. Donte’d made him promise that he’d do whatever they asked him to do without question.

Yeah. Like I’d really give up that much control.

Apparently, the first thing Cristiano and Sean expected was that Adin would learn to feed off humans.

Not only that, but they wanted him to feed
at the airport.

Not that Denver International isn’t a perfectly lovely place for a meal.

Denver’s airport was magnificent, one of Adin’s top five favorite airports in the country. It had soaring, sweeping tent-like ceilings and greenery and smiling greeters—dressed in the suede vests and cowboy hats of a bygone era—waiting to direct travelers if they should get lost. DEN was full of fine art paintings and photographs and sculpture, most with a western heritage or flight theme.

Adin had gone through the clear check security line with his customary patience, which was to say none at all. He got flagged for a test of his hands for explosives, but otherwise, he sailed through the line in the wake of Cristiano Santos with no questions asked. The TSA agent who waved him through the scanner was dark, immensely tall, and expressionless. His features bore traces of Native American ancestry. His mind was on barbecue and his attractive female coworker—he wanted to eat one and fuck the other. Sean, who received way more intense scrutiny from said coworker, seemed to annoy him.

Santos turned once he’d picked his laptop case off the conveyor belt. “Choose someone.”

“What?” Adin pulled his carry-on case from the conveyor belt, telescoped the handle, and let it land on the floor behind him.

“You’ll need to eat before we board.”

Sean got his backpack and joined them, nudging Adin’s shoulder with his customary bonhomie. “Loads of choices here.”

“No.”
What the ever-loving fuck?
Santos knew Adin wasn’t used to feeding off humans. What was he thinking?

Santos lifted a brow. “Pick someone.”

“I will not.”

“You’re not likely to find a brace of coneys here, Frodo,” said Sean.

“Adin.” Santos’s voice was maddeningly tolerant. “Feeding is a biological imperative. Do you know what will happen if your hunger overtakes you on a crowded airplane?”

“What? It’s two hours.”

“Have you ever heard of the
Mary Celeste
?” Sean said the ship’s name as though they were sitting around a campfire. “
Ghost ship
.”

“Right,” Adin patted his jacket pocket absently to double-check he still had his cell phone. It was a crutch, probably, but it was his lifeline to Donte, who felt a million miles away, even though Adin had only just left him. “You’re saying if I don’t feed I’ll go mad, eat an entire 737’s worth of passengers, and it will land at LAX empty.”

“I have to insist you feed.” Santos gripped his shoulder tightly and steered him toward the train that would take them to Terminal A. “As an elder I have a responsibility not only to help the young acclimate, but to see to it that they don’t attract attention to themselves.”

“What about security? There are cameras everywhere.”

“I’ll handle that.” Sean grinned. “Nothing to it.”

“Christ, Donte’s kept you ignorant.” Santos muttered a few choice Italian curses. “He probably wished to protect you, but in the long run—”

“It’s unwise to hunt alone in public.” Sean glanced around, as if to make sure no one was listening in. “We protect each other—we block the security cameras or distract security guards while we feed. We can’t have a plane touching down with our seatmates’ throats ripped out. Especially in these days of instantaneous information sharing.”

“Right,” Adin said tartly. “You don’t want someone Instagramming that.”

“Make a joke if you like. But that would break the Internet faster than Kim Kardashian becoming a lesbian nun.”

“She looks nice.” Santos nodded toward an attractive dark-haired woman in a black flight attendant’s skirt and sweater over a white blouse. She was fit and glowed with health, walking with a purposeful stride in low-heeled black pumps. Adin’s teeth itched.

Adin sped up, passing her by, giving her plenty of space. “I can’t do this.”

“This is not up for debate.”

Sean caught Adin’s arm. “Come here for a minute.”

Adin tried to pull away, but it was useless. “Stop it.”

“You’re a decent man.” Sean gave him a wry, what-can-you-do smile. “I
know
you’re a decent man. So you wouldn’t want to put off feeding and possibly hurt someone, would you?”

“But I don’t—” Adin glanced around helplessly, “—I don’t know how to do this.”

“This is what comes of permissive parenting,” Santos said with disgust. “Donte should have flogged you.”

Any other time, that might have sounded kind of hot. “Donte is not my parent.”

“Strictly speaking—in terms of vampire genealogy—he is.”

“That doesn’t mean he gets to tell me what to—”

“Stop this. You choose or I’ll choose for you,” Santos said sharply. “We don’t get on the plane until you eat.”

At that precise moment, a young family walked by—a twentysomething man and his pregnant wife. They pushed a side-by-side stroller with twin toddlers.

“You tell him.” The man laughed and gave Santos a salute. “It’s never too late to lay down the law.”

“These kids today.” Santos shrugged, but his eyes followed them. “How about him? He’s more your type, yes? Handsome and saucy?”

“No.” Adin was sickened by the thought. “He’s got a
family
. How can you even suggest—”

“We’re not going to hurt him.” Sean’s voice was laced with impatience. “Not unless you let things go too far. And you don’t, you
won’t
, if you feed regularly. Surely Donte has taken you hunting—”

“He hasn’t.” But that wasn’t fair. Donte had tried to teach him everything he needed to know. He’d wanted to share his knowledge, had wanted Adin to be his partner in the hunt, but Adin had refused anything but animal blood. Or Donte’s.

Donte found humans to feed on, even there, in the sparsely populated mountain town where they’d been staying—or maybe he’d snacked at Costco when he went into the city, just not on the samples. Adin had accepted that; he’d fed off those people secondhand.

“He’s let you exist on junk food, is what you’re saying.” Santos leveled him with a disgusted frown. “He allows you to eat poorly because you whined that you didn’t like eating healthy, nutritious meals.”

“For God’s sake, Santos. Stop with the nutrition metaphors. I’ve managed to satisfy my needs.”

Santos guided him into the men’s bathroom. Once they were inside, he gave Sean a nod.

“Sorry, gents. Airport security. We need to check the bathroom out. Won’t be a minute.” A simple push of thought from Sean made everyone using the bathroom stop what they were doing. They let go of paper towels, left faucets running, and filed out. Adin winced as a man at the urinal let his penis drop midstream, soaking his trousers in the process. A man in a stall flushed, zipped up audibly, and opened the door.

“Not you,” Santos said, easily catching him by the lapel of his suit jacket and shoving him back inside. “You stay there.”

“Christ.” Adin looked for cameras. “Isn’t there security everywhere these days?”

“They only have cameras at the entrance to monitor people coming and going.”

Sean peeked over the stall door and grinned at whoever was inside. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you?”

“What the fu
ck? Let me out, goddammit.” The man inside rustled around before pounding on the stall door, which Santos held shut. It appeared to take him no effort at all, even though the trapped man was enormous by comparison.

“Let him go, Santos,” said Adin.

“After.” The words
you feed
were implied.

“We don’t have time for arguments,” Sean said through gritted teeth. “I’ll keep people out. Hurry up and do your business.”

Adin let out a shuddering breath. The man in the stall
was
huge. He’d looked like a professional football player who’d aged out and become a coach. Adin nodded at Santos, who let go of the door.

“I’m fucking law enforcement, you morons.” The man tumbled out. “Talk fast or I’m going to beat the shit out of all of you.”

“I’d do him.” Sean probably liked throwing gasoline on fires too.

“Whatever you have planned—” The man glanced at Santos, who had allowed his canines to elongate, and gasped. “Jesus fuck, what the hell are you assholes playing at?”

“Adin?” Santos was clearly losing patience.

“No.” Adin pressed his lips together like a kid faced with mushy peas.

“Do it—” Santos’s tone was no longer in any way indulgent, “—or I’ll kill him.”

“That’s it. You clowns are under arrest.” The man started forward, hand going to the back of his jacket, and Adin’s hesitation was over.

“Stop.” Adin reluctantly used a panicked press of thought on his subject, a mix of
please
and
don’t
and
oh-my-God-stop
along with the scent of vanilla because he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“What the fuck
is
that?” The man’s nostrils flared and his prominent brow came to a V between his eyes—a sharp little pucker that Adin might have kissed away, had the brow in question been Donte’s. “What’re you—”

“Be
still
,” Adin whispered, and the man dropped his hand. Adin glared at Santos.
All right, you win, but I’m not going to by-God eat an air marshal—or whatever this guy is—without an introduction.
“Your name?”

“Bishop.”

“Bishop?” Adin pushed more thoughts on his prey.
Listen to me. Everything is under control.
“I’m Dr. Adin Tredeger. Pleased to meet you.”

Bishop appeared numb. “People call me Bish.”

“Good,” Adin said softly.
Listen to me. I’m in charge here. Everything is under control.
“It’s okay, Bish. It’s going to be okay.”

Bish.
The name felt good.

Bish.

All right. C’mon then.
Adin gently maneuvered the big man back into the stall, where he closed the door while he repeated the short, sweet sound of the man’s name.
“Bish.”

He tugged down the knot in Bish’s tie and unbuttoned his shirt. “
Shh…Bish.”

The name sounded spectacular when Adin whispered it against the pulse thudding beneath the tough skin of Bish’s neck.

And Bishop smelled so goddamned good. Earthy and intoxicating, the man was a solid wall of muscle and sinew and bone and best of all blood, and Adin could have wept over the delicious flavor of him in the seconds after he struck home.

Blood,
blood
, briny, brilliant, precious survival—flooded his mouth.

Adin licked and bit and sucked. He gathered salt from Bish’s smoothly shaven skin with his tongue, and all the while he pushed the idea of physical pleasure, sexual pleasure, hot, dizzying,
dirty
pleasure—pleasure that culminated in Bish’s cataclysmic, spine-twisting release.

Bish swore and arched, shaking with passion until his eyes glazed over. The bliss of feeding successfully rocked Adin back on his heels like a protein-packed, vitamin-enhanced, iron-fortified shockwave.

When it was over, Adin wiped his mouth with trembling fingers.

Bishop’s knees buckled and he slipped down onto the toilet, his face a mask of dazed delight. A purely male, deeply satisfied smile curved his lips upwards.

Adin left the booth, but glanced back. His first
victim
.

Bish was fucking beautiful. Beautiful. Male.
Mine
.

But maybe that was just the sweet satisfaction of sustenance talking.

The erotic pleasure had been all for Bishop, just as Donte’d said it would be when Adin had first been turned. But there was something else between them now. An intimacy. An obligation. He’d marked Bishop as his. He could feel the bond, throbbing between them.

Adin had marked him, and it gave him an almost orgasmic emotional satisfaction. It was insanely good. It was delightful.

He could do this.

He could share that level of intimacy with anyone, after all…

But now he could never go back.

Never.

Adin met Santos’s gaze. Santos was entirely too satisfied with himself. He’d won his point and there’d be no further argument on Adin’s part. When Adin needed to feed, he’d do it. The difference between this feed and those that came before it was astonishing. Miraculous. Adin felt whole. He felt vibrantly, passionately alive.

He felt full, for the first time since he’d been turned.

He let his gaze fall to toilet seat, where Bish still sprawled in languid afterglow, and realized that maybe it wasn’t such a sacrifice for his human partner after all.

It wasn’t a sacrifice for him to nourish Donte. It never had been.

Why had he tried to avoid
this
?

Animal blood was a sickly, squalid substitute for this ecstasy, this powerful, passionate ritual, which tasted like…conquest, like primal satisfaction and…
fuck, fuck, fuck.

He’d lost so much already.

He’d lost so
goddamn
much and all he’d wanted was to hang on to that one last thing, to the innocence of still almost being one of
them
.

Being human.

He hadn’t known what he was missing, and now…now he’d never find his way back. He’d never be able to give this up. Never…

“Fuck you, Santos.” Adin left Bish where he’d fallen to find Sean relaxed against the outer door. Pushing Sean aside, Adin left the bathroom, left
them
to clean up the mess.

As he got on the train and made his way to the gate without Sean and Santos, Adin tried not to think too hard about what he’d done. When he got to their gate, the flight attendants were already calling for first-class passengers to board. He handed over his ticket and headed down the jetway. How long had his feed taken? Seconds? A few minutes?