“I already said I cannot, for some short while. Try to relax.”
You did not just tell me to relax. Maybe males were the same the world over, monsters or not. “At least let go of my leg.”
She was bargaining with a bloodsucking fiend. At any moment he was probably going to bite her again. Bea’s body gave a low twinge at the thought, and he inhaled sharply.
“Slowly,” he murmured in her ear. “Very slowly, kitten.”
Sure, monster. Anything you say. But Bea found he would cooperate, though she had to wrap her legs around his waist to ease the strain in her back and hips. The angle shifted as they sank into the bed, her ankles locked against each other, and it would have been nice, it would’ve been flat-out great if he were human.
And if he hadn’t killed Jared. Or had he? “Why are you doing this?” She had a limited window here, either of getting him to say something useful or doing her own thinking without the interference of terror.
Come on, Bebe. Use that noggin of yours. Thankfully it wasn’t her brother’s voice; she didn’t think she could stand that at the moment.
Her only weapons here were playing along and thinking ahead. What, after all, would happen when the monster got tired of her? Maybe she ought to be nice, pretend interest, flatter him.
“I’m old.” He sighed, and though he still wasn’t crushing her, the monster wasn’t letting her go anytime soon either. “The years add up, pretty Beatrice. Our kind becomes slow, numb. Hidebound.”
“Okay.” Keep him talking. She tried not to wriggle, tried to not even breathe too hard. Sweat cooled on her arms, her knees, though he was very warm. They were stuck together like some kind of nightmare hybrid—she shivered at the thought.
“Hm.” Not quite a growl, as he nuzzled below her ear—a bit awkward, since he was so much taller. The bulk above her might be comforting, protective, if he wasn’t a monster. “As we survive, we begin to calcify. Mentally, physically, in every way—a slow death, and unpleasant. The only cure is a leman.”
“Cure?” The unappetizing prospect of being infected with a monster’s STD rose again, refusing to die just like he had. “Wait, did you give me a?—”
“An addiction, to break the spell. It is not like your fairytales, your movies.” Did he sound irritated, or dismissive? The monster shifted slightly, propping an elbow near her bare shoulder, and his fingers threaded into her hair. “I did not kill your brother, Beatrice—though if I had arrived earlier and scented you, who is to say? Or perhaps another sanguinant would have found you, since you were actively seeking out the demimonde.” His fingers paused, wound in her hair, his hand stiffening.
Uh-oh. “Demimonde?” Mirror him, let him know you’re listening. Men like to talk about themselves. “I’ve heard that term.” Not often, and always in connection to truly scary stories, the genuinely inexplicable ones that ended up with gruesome body counts, rabbitholing anyone who read too many right into tinfoil hats.
“Many things live alongside mortals.” The slow, sinuous caressing of her hair continued. “Few will trouble you, including the greiben. I will exterminate the clan which killed your Jared soon enough.”
She didn’t like him mentioning Jare, especially under current conditions. It felt wrong; so did that other word. “Exterminate?”
“Old and young put to the sword, their spawning grounds sterilized, their halls reduced to emptiness—you may view it as revenging your brother. Will that please you?”
Bea kept her eyes closed. The moment she opened them, she was going to have to reckon with...everything. “Helluva way to treat your henchmen, Mr. Everly.”
Saying a dead man’s fake name after being fucked by a bloodsucker. If she’d known hunting monsters would end up here, she might never have started. The enormity of what she’d stumbled into made the paralyzing fear threaten a return, nipping at the edges of bodily relaxation.
Her hormones had no goddamn judgment.
“I told you, sanguinant do not stoop to such tools.” A fractional tensing, though the cock buried in her had not changed shape again, thank goodness. The monster’s lips moved a hairsbreadth from her earlobe, sending shivers down her back with every syllable. “They will continue pursuing the greisoul. After all, it is one of their own.”
The necklace, pressed between them. At least he hadn’t broken it, ripping her clothes off, and she now realized he had avoided smashing the thing through her breastbone during the festivities, too. Nice of him—the setting had some sharp curlicues. But what did he mean, one of their own? “You’re calling my brother a thief.”
“Not at all. If he stumbled into their warrens, he must have been both determined and lucky to escape. Taking a souvenir is understandable, especially since greisoul gems are rather enchanting.” His chin brushed her shrinking skin, for all the world like a cat’s playful nudge. “Nothing to match you, of course.”
Okay, sure. Bea was naked save for socks, the duvet was full of scratchy threads, and her hips were never going to forgive her. How long was she trapped here?
The problem was that no subject seemed safe, and in any case the monster didn’t pause. “It’s Lukas, by the way.” A slow, careful enunciation, the final sibilant nearly a shush rather than a hiss. His tension had increased; she hoped it wasn’t a bad sign. “My name, when I was mortal. Long ago.”
There. That’s something to talk about. If she kept him occupied...how long could that work? “How old are you really?”
“Ah.” For a moment he sounded very human, and slightly embarrassed. “I do not precisely know. I had the Gift when Akkad was three huts in the mud; I am old and strong enough to be daywalker, and that is enough. Perhaps I am even Archon now.”
“Argon?” Wait ‘til I tell Don. Bea flinched inwardly; the urge to share a new piece of gossip or occult lore with her co-investigator was goddamn near automatic as breathing. She had to find out if he was all right. But how? “No, wait. Listen, what if you give them the necklace back? You can do that, right?” Because I’d rather not try, though I will if I have to.
“The greiben would consider it an even greater insult, and their nagging grow constant. No, my leman. They must be erased.” He stretched, cat-supple, and moved his elbows. Cool air slipped between them—not their lower halves, but he was drawing back.
Looking at her.
