Skin Deep (9 page)

“Hey, pussy cat, how ya feelin’ tonight?” Cain looked up in annoyance as Blaise slid into the seat beside him. A mocking grin covered the man’s face.

“Fuck off.” The last two days had been filled with binge-drinking for Cain. He was close to setting up a tent at Lucky Zipper. The Elves would probably let him, considering the kind of cash he’d been blowing. Yup, he was proactive when it came to getting over shit.

Not.

“Ooh, trouble in paradise?” Sparrc was only a second behind Blaise, his outrageous hair seeming brighter than the day before. Man, those fuckers were attached at the damned hip.

“Getting fucked-up drunk doesn’t mean shit, bitches.”

Neither brother took the insult for what it was. Their smiles widened and they shared a look that pissed Cain off even more. “What the hell are y’all smiling about?”

“So, you banged the red-headed chick then? ’Cause I’ve been waiting to have a go at her.” Blaise rubbed his meaty hands together. Cain saw red as blood clouded his vision.

Before he knew what he was doing he jumped to his feet and grabbed Blaise by the collar of his expensive Abercrombie shirt. “She’s mine! No one touches her but me! Got it, puppy chow?” Cain’s voice was seething, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

Blaise made no move to react, only stared at him intently with his gray eyes. The glass one seemed to peer into Cain’s very soul.
Motherfucker.
He was just saying this to gauge Cain’s reaction. He released Blaise in a rush and stumbled back, signaling the waitress for another drink.

“She’s your
feorh
.” Blaise straightened his shirt.
Feorh.
That word gave Cain chills. When Blaise had mentioned her being his soul mate before, he hadn’t thought anything of it. Brushed it aside like last week’s tail, but not this time. It was probably because Cain had been thinking something similar. His pull to Kiera was something intriguing. Never had he yearned for a woman like he did her. She wasn’t his
feorh,
though. He knew that for a fact.

There were many in the Immortal Realm who had found their soul mates. Cain met a lot of these mated beings in his lifetime. It was typically the more dominant party that sensed the attachment first—though not always, and more often than not, it depended on the species. If two
Born
Weres of the same animal type found one another, chances were that they would both sense their other half at the same time, though not always. Everyone was different, or so he’d heard. The pull of one’s soul to its other half was supposedly overwhelming, and would consume the recognizing party until they bound the soul back together.

It was his father’s words that echoed in his mind, though, no matter how much he didn’t want them to. “
You know the moment you lay eyes on her that she’s yours. Nothing can keep you away from her after that.”
His fists clenched at the memory. White-hot anger stirred the beast inside him at the sincerity of his dad’s tone. Sincerity that had bailed at the first opportunity. That was probably the reason Cain hadn’t found his
feorh.
Fate knew he would fuck it up, just like his old man.

He wanted Kiera
real fucking bad
, but she wasn’t the one fate chose for him. He was shocked how much that realization sucked. If she wasn’t for him, then he wasn’t for her, either. The thought of another man taking her to bed … penetrating her body …

“Shit, man, chill the fuck down. We’re just busting your ass.” Cain looked up and met Sparrc’s freaky blue stare and realized he’d pulverized the shot glass in his hand. Blood dripped onto his expensive shirt.

“Listen.” Cain shook the shards of glass from his hand onto the table. “Both of you. You sound like a bunch of fucking saps, talking about this
feorh
soul mate shit.”

He masked his features. He didn’t want them to know how fucked up his mind really was right now.

“You didn’t deny it,” Sparrc pointed out as he lit up his Black ‘N Mild in a puff of thickly fragranced smoke.

“Oh yeah? Well, I don’t have to answer to you, sparkle fairy, do I?” Gods, what was up his ass tonight? The wolves meant no harm. He knew they didn’t. Shit, after everything they had been through together in Mexico, he trusted these men with his life. They were just giving him a hard time, like always, and he was taking it like a little bitch. He tried to convince himself it wasn’t his fault. This was all Kiera’s fault, but since when did he let a woman control his emotions?
Motherfucking never.
Yet, here he was getting
shwasted
, trying to drown his problems in booze.
Got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain’t one.
That had officially become the opposite of the truth for him. A busty little brunette Vampire approached the table. He vaguely recognized her—had he fucked her before?
Probably.
He couldn’t remember.

“Hey, sexy, I’m about to take a break. Wanna have some fun?” Her voice purred in his ear as she bent down. Her dark brown locks swept across his face. She smelled of cigarette smoke, sweat, and copper. The harsh scent was so unlike Kiera’s tropical one.

Stop thinking about her.

“You know me, baby. I’m always down for some fun.” At that he stood and gave Blaise and Sparrc the look he always gave them when he was about to get it on with a chick, only this time he didn’t feel excited for the pleasure. His stomach ached with dread as he followed the Vampire through the crowd.

The door to the back hallway wasn’t even halfway shut when the Vampire chick latched onto him like a lifeline, throwing herself into his arms, locking her lips with his own. He tried to kiss her back, but her lips were too cold. It took little effort to pry her body from his.

“What’s the matter, babe?” She looked disappointed. He could see her erect fangs, which had slid free with her arousal. The scent of it was pungent to his nose, nothing like Kiera’s.

“On your knees.” His voice sounded foreign. She slid to the floor and reached out to unzip his pants in a rush, freeing his cock, except he wasn’t hard. The bastard hung limp as a noodle. Fuck, this was a problem he’d never had before. The pale Vamp didn’t seem fazed by this. She leaned in to take him into her mouth when he grabbed her hair and stopped her.

“No fangs in my dick. Got it?”

“I know, baby, you told me last time.” So he had fucked her—or her mouth at least.

She took him into her and began to suckle his flesh. His body refused to respond.
Dammit!
He wanted to have this pleasure, enjoy it like he always did. What the fuck was wrong with him? He closed his eyes. Immediately Kiera’s face appeared behind his lids. It was her mouth around his thick flesh, suckling him into a heated frenzy. His cock shot instantly hard, blood rushing, filling him like a water balloon on the verge of bursting. He heard a gagging sound and then a moan of approval. The noise was all wrong. Kiera’s moans were more breathless, sweet like honey. It didn’t matter, though; it was still her face that filled his vision.

Her dark red hair curling around her lovely tanned face as she suckled him deeper into her perfect little throat. He felt it, the building orgasm. It clawed at his insides, tingled in every nerve before shooting hot and hard into Kiera’s mouth. He groaned, saying words he was already forgetting.

He let his body sag against the wall, feeling lighter than he had in over a week, like a huge weight had lifted from his shoulders—or testicles, if he wanted to be specific.

“Mmm, lover, that was good. Let’s get together after I get off work. I’m ready for a good, hot fuck.”

Cain’s eyes shot open. The Vampire stood before him. Her pale skin practically glowed in the dark corridor.
Not Kiera.
Cain fought the urge to push her away from him. Why did it feel like someone had punched him in the gut?

The opening of the door snapped Cain from his turmoil and he shoved himself back into his pants. He was surprised to see Sparrc.

“You done, man? Ryder’s here. We got a problem.”

Twenty minutes later, Cain found himself speeding down the highway, riding shotgun in Ryder’s black Hummer. The all-leather black interior didn’t make the ride relaxing. They were driving to another murder scene.

Blaise and Sparrc sat in the backseat and their Sergeant, Ryder Thomson, drove. Ryder was the youngest of their platoon stationed in Maine, though only chronologically. He looked more than a decade older than Cain. The man had been in his late thirties when he’d become one of the
Bitten
.

Back in Mexico, some of the guys in their platoon had rebelled against the idea of a turned Were commanding them. Cain, on the other hand, didn’t give a fuck. Even before the Bitten Rights Movement a few decades ago, he hadn’t cared about the purity of being one of the
Born
. In the movement, the
Bitten
had fought for equality and recognition amongst their
Born
peers, desperate to become more than the outcasts and slaves of the race. It worked. The Kingdom relented, but they still had a long way to go. Cain didn’t really get it. What difference did bloodline purity make anyway? Aside from the fact that born Weres were typically more docile and less volatile, more in control of their emotions.

Ryder was ex-army. Tough as motherfucking nails. Cain could testify to that. The man was lethal, always armed to the teeth. Probably why he was their sergeant and they were the recruits. Didn’t bother Cain any. Responsibility was for suckers.

Ryder looked mean as shit with his military buzz cut and thick, hideous scars surrounding his neck. It wasn’t just one, like someone had cut his throat. No, whoever fucked him up botched the shit out of the job, leaving the flesh of his neck destroyed and distorted. Thick ropes of scar tissue angled in multiple directions, up to his chin and down, disappearing below the collar of his uniform shirt. The shirt they were all wearing tonight.

It was a long-sleeve black button-up with a black tie. They all had a badge pinned on their left pectoral and a name on their right. There was a patch on each shoulder with the
ece annis
, the symbol of the Eternal Forces meaning eternal unity, embroidered amidst gold-and-blue thread, the same as the tattoo on their arms. The whole uniform was a chick magnet for real.

Only Cain’s shirts never fit right, and neither did the black pants that went with them. When the new sets came in each year, everyone else would pull theirs out, while Cain found his set at the bottom. Once they had been bleached white and looked like Willy Wonka had vomited on them. Another time the bleach had only been on the back of the shirt, in the shape of a huge penis—one that even put his to shame. And of course there was that time he’d been sent tight-ass booty shorts instead of pants. And this had been going on for nearly fifty years.
Oh, the joy of pissing off the king.

This time his shirt came in about five sizes too small. The king, Theron, probably spent more time making fucking uniforms each year than Cain did chucking that shit in the trash and ordering a separate set under someone else’s name.

Cain shook his head, moving the hair out of his face, and glanced at Ryder. The man was sitting perfectly straight in the driver’s seat, his black gaze fixed on the road. He didn’t party like Cain and the twins did. He took everything seriously. Every word, every action. He didn’t joke. Hell, Cain had never heard him laugh and he’d known the man for more than five years.

Since moving to Kittery, Cain and Ryder rented a townhouse together, while the twins rented one next door. Cain liked having his space and Ryder liked not having to deal with anyone. So their rooming situation worked out perfectly. Cain was always out fucking and drinking and Ryder was in his half of the house—the top floor—doing Zeus knew what. Cain didn’t really give a rat’s ass what he did. None of his business.

“What kind of call came in? Details.” Blaise’s spiked head leaned between the front seats. Cain spun the gear on his lighter as he held a Lucky between his teeth. He needed a cig right about
smeow
.

“Smoke in my car and I’ll gut you, asshole.” Ryder’s voice was steady, gravelly—always the same whether he was talking about dead bodies or the weather. Just empty, emotionless words.

“Chill the fuck out, Ryder. The shit can’t kill us.” Sparrc rolled his window down, no doubt wanting to light up a Black ‘N Mind.

“No, but it smells like shit.”

If it’d been anyone else, he would’ve egged it on. Lit up with a big
fuck off
. Not with Ryder, though, and it wasn’t because the man ranked above him. Cain didn’t give a shit about any of that. He had formed a certain respect for the guy, which was saying something.

Sparrc wisely followed suit. Cain didn’t have any doubt the sergeant would have pulled the car over just to kick Sparrc’s ass. Or tried, at least.

Ryder hit some buttons on the computer imbedded in the dash. Dude was a techno freak. In seconds a strange voice played over the Hummer’s speakers. It was one he recognized.

From the
Scream
movies.