Roaring Shadows: Macey Book 2 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 8) (16 page)

To his surprise, she stepped away from the sofa and leaned against the counter, taking the glass. She swallowed a healthy sip, watching him over the rim with those big, dark eyes. When she lowered the glass, her lips glistened invitingly and she was still looking at him. Very pointedly.

“Is that an invitation?” he said.

“The life of a Venator is a lonely one. Or so you’ve pointed out to me numerous times.”

She threw his words back at him without coyness or invitation, and Chas mentally shook his head as he lifted his glass and drank. Damn, she was getting to be a handful. Give the woman a
vis bulla
and a pair of hot, velvety brown eyes—not to mention a reason to go a few verbal rounds with him—and he was very nearly in over his head.

He itched to touch her…no, to be more specific, he itched to shove her against the wall, tear off that stained dress, and drown their respective sorrows in a blur of heat and passion. And from the look of her expression, she wouldn’t mind some mindless sex one bit.

“We both know it’s been brewing for a while,” she said, holding his eyes with hers. They were firm, cool, steady—almost emotionless. “You and me. And now, here we are, with no Sebastian and no Temple and no Capone. No one to interfere, and the sun’ll be rising any minute now—so no more hunting the undead tonight. So why don’t you follow through on your offer and show me your
vis bulla
, Chas? And maybe I’ll show you mine.”

“I’ve already seen yours, lulu.
However
…” He set his glass down with a soft, deliberate thunk. Still watching her, holding her gaze meaningfully, he removed the drink from her grip, saying, “Let me take that for you. It’d be a waste to spill such good contraband.”

He’d barely released the glass onto the counter—sloppily enough to slosh a bit—than he was dragging her to him by a fistful of her dress.

Macey met his mouth eagerly, her lips firm and mobile. She tasted of whiskey and salty perspiration, and her powerful, lithe body felt terrifyingly slight in his arms. She was damp and a little sticky, scented with blood and sweat—probably even tears as well—but she was warm and ready, soft and curvy, and the essence of female musk clinging to her skin was enough to make Chas exhale with relief. He was very ready for this…and was growing more so as she pressed against him, her hands gripping his shoulders, her hips flush against his.

Though small and slender, Macey was as strong as he, so Chas had no compunction about being a little forceful, a little rough, and a lot demanding. He kissed her hungrily, delving with a strong, thrusting tongue and nibbling at her lips. She seemed to enjoy it, gasping a surprised laugh against his mouth when he yanked her dress open. Buttons flew, and the lace and cotton tore a little when he pulled the neckline down over her shoulders. They were delicate white shoulders…marred by two small wounds on one side of her neck.

Chas paused when he saw them, and then noticed the slender red scar trailing from the top of her sternum down behind her undergarment…and another around the front of one breast, encircling the areola. Even in the hazy moment of lust and desire, he recognized the marks weren’t exactly fresh…yet they still oozed blood.

Macey didn’t seem to appreciate the halt to things, for she took matters into her own hands and began to work at the buttons down the front of his shirt. “Where is it, Chas?” she muttered, pulling the cotton down over his shoulders and then plucking his undershirt from the waistband of his trousers. “Where is your hard-won
vis bulla
?”

But she’d already found it—her fingers quick and nimble, sliding under the cotton of his shirt to capture the small silver cross he wore pierced through the upper lip of his navel—just as she did. When she touched it, Chas felt a sizzle shoot through him that had less to do with lust than blatant power. He gave a little laugh as she gasped in surprise—for a Venator touching a
vis bulla
would always cause a spark of energy—and pressed her hand against it and the vibrating muscle of his belly. The power leapt between them again, sending a strong rush of pleasure funneling sharply to his straining cock.

He released her hand and brought Macey up close along his body, angling one of her thighs along his hip so she could feel his arousal as he deftly unlaced her brassiere. She was panting a bit, soft, sexy little sounds that made him want to yank off the rest of her clothes and toss her on the sofa and make her moan a little louder.

When he peeled her undergarment down far enough to uncover her breasts, he gave a low hum of delight at the curvy, perky sight. Macey shifted impatiently against his johnson, using the waist of his trousers to pull him closer, even grinding against him a little. Well, a lot, actually.

“Whoa there, lulu,” he murmured, shifting away a little as he slid a hand up under her dress to bare a slender, muscular leg. She was warm and soft, and he itched to touch her right where she was lush and hot and wet. “Let’s not rush things.”

“I don’t mind rushing things,” she told him, reaching for the fastening of his trousers and ripping it open.

For the first time in a while, Chas looked down at her face. Even through the fog of lust and need, he registered the expression there: dark, set, determined, and needy.

Just the same, he supposed, as the look on his own countenance. “All right then,” he muttered, propping himself against the back of the sofa and pulling her along with him. His trousers sagged and he let them fall around his ankles as she dragged his boxers out of the way. Skirt high on her thighs now, his hands holding the flowing fabric out of the way, he hoisted her up onto him as she gripped his shoulders.

“
Oh
,” she said as he slid home, deep and slow, into her warmth. The sound penetrated his fog of lust and he wanted to drag more from her: more pleasure, more soft gasps and sighs, more nails digging into his skin, more hot, sleek kisses.

He moved, carefully at first, but that foolish restraint lasted only a moment. She was clearly impatient, and so was he, and Chas saw no reason to hold back. Macey used her feet for leverage against the sofa, and they slipped into a fast, hard rhythm laced with sighs and moans of building pleasure.

Chas saw her eyes flutter just before she came, her head tipping back as she gripped his shoulders, her mass of dark curls bouncing and tumbling around her cheeks and chin. As she shuddered against him, hard and sharp, he let go with a long, low moan of relief and pleasure, and it mingled with her own gust of release.

He managed to keep hold of her with one arm braced around her waist, though his knees buckled a little and his stockinged toes curled with pleasure. Breathing hard, damp with pleasure and exertion, he sagged against the sofa, eyes closed, and fought off a riot of conflicting emotions that threatened to shatter his bliss.

Macey shifted against him, sending a little twitch of lust into the depths of his belly, for they were still joined. He came out of his moment of half-consciousness to help her to her feet, not quite ready to look at her yet. Not willing to see what was in her eyes and expression…and certainly not wanting her to see what was in his.

He spewed out a mental breath, shoving away guilt and remorse and a whole lot of other things, and focused on the fact that his body was still humming pleasantly and Macey didn’t seem to have any problem with what had just happened. Except that…
Damn it to hell
.

No condom. No bloody damned condom. Chas went cold, and the last remnants of pleasure were gone. Just like that.

“Well,” Macey said, jolting him from his dark thoughts. Her voice was breathy and low, and she was looking down at the tatters of her frock instead of up at him. “I think I might need something to wear.”

He found his voice. “I didn’t use a condom.”

Now she looked up at him, tucking her short curls behind an ear.

“I—uh—it all was—rather unexpected,” he added, desperately wishing the whiskey was within reach. “I don’t usually…need…”
Fuck. Shut the fuck up, Woodmore.

She shook her head. “It’s all right. Temple gave me—well, there’s a concoction to prevent pregnancy. Victoria Gardella used to use it too, and I suppose her daughter did as well.”

Chas couldn’t quite control a blast of relief, but he hoped he managed not to appear too giddy. “Good.” He felt as if he should be saying or doing something to alleviate the tension between them—why the hell was there tension after
that
, anyway?—but there was a sort of prickly aura around Macey that suggested he keep his distance, even though only moments ago she’d been gasping for
more.

Please
, she’d whispered.
Oh, yes, please, Chas.

Whatever she’d wanted, he’d given her. And it appeared, at least for now, that was all.

And he, at least, wasn’t going to complain. It was a hell of a lot easier this way. And for the first time in far too long, he’d allowed himself pleasure without needing a pair of fangs jamming into his shoulder.

“I don’t suppose you have a bathtub I could use,” Macey said, rising from picking up her strewn clothing. She leaned against the counter and tossed back the rest of her whiskey.

“Yes, of course,” he replied, a little taken aback by her matter-of-fact attitude.

For it was clear she wanted a soak—and he wouldn’t be invited to join her.

This was going to be very interesting.

FOURTEEN

~ A Dawning of Hope ~

Sebastian dragged himself
from the dream as though he were fighting out of a deep, dark pit. He was hot, sweaty, and hard with arousal, for the nocturnal visions had been dark and erotic and compelling. Dangerous.

He sat up, a shaking hand pushing away the hair plastered to his face.
No
, he told himself.
Not that. Never that.

But the dream tried to lure him back, insistent and tempting as the images filtered through his sleep-fogged, weary mind: soft white skin, lush curves, full lips parted with pleasure and desire, glossy, dark hair, deep, velvet eyes…first it was his Giulia, then Victoria…and then their images had metamorphosed into Macey: the perfect combination of both of the women he’d loved and sacrificed for. She was twining with him, touching him, opening herself to him…and he took. Viciously, passionately.

That was what terrified him.

And there was blood—from him,
for
him—shiny and sleek, sliding down the long curve of her neck, tempting him even now in his memory. His nostrils flared as if he could scent her here…though she wasn’t nearby.

He’d scented her tonight. Perhaps that was why this dream had come again—this time stronger, longer, more insidious and much clearer and more detailed than the ones that had previously tormented him. Harder to push away, more difficult to ignore. Terrifying.

He knew Macey had come to the Silver Chalice tonight, for though she hadn’t even broached the threshold, Sebastian smelled her. When Chas rose suddenly from the bar and didn’t return, he wondered…and when Ned brought him a message that they’d gone to Woodmore’s, Sebastian’s suspicions were confirmed.

Thank you for taking her away.

But they were at Woodmore’s. The two of them. Surely the natural thing would occur…the tension between them, though subtle and dark, had leapt and sizzled—just like it had done with Victoria and Pesaro all those decades ago.

That must be why he’d dreamt so deeply tonight. It had to be.

Sebastian closed his eyes and touched his
vis bulla
. The sharp, pain-laced energy skittered along his hand, jolting through the rest of his body—a welcome shock, a necessary reminder. Then, following his habit, he found the ruby signet ring Wayren had given him long ago when she knew his intention.
It will give you strength
, she’d told him just before Sebastian embarked on the journey that took him to Lilith the Dark and set him on this path of the “long promise.”

When the
hell
would this promise be finished, anyway, dammit?

The ruby ring was heavy and comforting—it was almost as steadying as Wayren’s own presence was—and Sebastian felt the edge of his anxiety subside.
Thank you
.

And then, continuing on the rite of sorts, his routine to remind him of who he was, from where he’d come, and why he was here, Sebastian touched each of the five copper rings on his other hand. The Rings of Jubai hadn’t moved for more than a hundred years, attached to his skin after he plunged his hand into the Pool in the mountains of Romania. It was then, as he knelt there with his hand in the horrible, cutting, thick waters, that Giulia had appeared to him the first time.

Help me.

Sebastian was never certain whether he’d actually heard her plea, seen her face…or merely desperately visualized it all in his mind, but she’d been there nevertheless. Freed to communicate with him, perhaps, when he donned the rings—or when he shoved his hand into the harsh waters of the Pool. He didn’t know for certain whether the Pool and the rings were the impetus for Giulia appearing to him, giving him the chance to save her, but the two events would be forever connected in his mind.

And that was why he’d secretly gone back to the Pool, long after things had changed for him, long after he’d lost Victoria.

Now, he touched all five rings, out of habit attempting to twist or loosen each of them in turn…and then he froze. His eyes bolted wide in the darkness. His heart thudded sickeningly.

One of them moved.

Had it? Had one of them moved?

His fingers were suddenly slick and clumsy, but he managed to try it again…
yes
. The fourth one moved. It turned, shifted just a little, rotating the slightest bit. For the first time in a century.

Surely it was a sign.

He could hardly breathe, afraid he’d been mistaken…but when he tried it again, the ring moved once more.

A quick, hard shudder rushed over him. His hands turned to ice, his pulse surged and leapt, his lungs felt constricted.

Surely this meant the time was near.

At last.

Macey opened her eyes to find sun streaming into the room. Through the haphazardly drawn curtains, she could see the roof and spire of a church, with its cross sitting proudly on top of it.