Blood Immoral Read online

  Mirra smiled without humour. “You mean you wish that they didn’t. Oh, some of them aren’t so bad, if you don’t let them get close enough to fang you. The creature, the Initiator that does this sort of killing, is a pestilence. These will resurrect and then there’ll be more deaths until they’re stopped. Get out of here, come with me, now!” She took his arm and dragged him down the alley.

  “I can’t just leave.”

  “Yes you can, unless you know how to deal with six psycho vamps. I’m good but not that good,” Mirra said as she struggled against his attempts to break free. She grabbed him by his jacket and twisted him about to face her. For a moment she raised him to the toes of his boots, to prove a point. She might be petite by succubus standards, but she could out match any man in speed and strength. “You can’t deal with them. I can’t. We have to run.”

  “I never run from anything, or anyone.”

  “Tonight, you have to.”

  Behind them, they heard groaning, then laughter and swearing. A chilling hiss. Monica’s voice commanding them. The male voices fell silent.

  “Shit!” Ric whispered. “Moni…”

  “Your former partner is their mistress and they’ll do her bidding. C’mon!” Mirra grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and flung him in front of her. He stumbled and righted himself, and rounded on her, his fist raised.

  “Do it, and it’ll be the last thing you do!” Mirra tensed herself. No man hit her. Ever. He’d be dead before he swung his arm.

  He exhaled, long and hard before lowering his fist. “Sorry. I don’t hit women, but understand this! You don’t push me around, sweetheart, no matter how you might’ve saved my butt.”

  “Okay, so now we get away from here and fast. You have a car?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  “I want to deal with this, here and now.”

  “Then you’ll die, here and now. On your own.” She half turned from him, but watched him from beneath her lashes. She could compel him to save his own skin. That would take time and energy—for her, both were in short supply. Why bother with him? Because too many had died this night, and more would follow before this Blood-night was over.

  He glared at her, his square jaw clenched, his green, gold flecked eyes burning through her. His aura lashed against her, black and orange, the colours of disgust and fury. He struggled to contain the explosion, the conflicting emotions. He trembled with the effort, the desire to stay and the need to run.

  “Okay, let’s go.” He holstered his gun beneath his leather jacket and sprinted down the alley. She ran after him, catching up.

  Side by side, they raced across the street, down several more alleys until he halted before a beaten up red mustang parked beneath a tattered awning.

  Mirra glanced at it, then him.

  He nodded. “I know what you’re thinking, but believe me, she goes when she has to. Get in.”

  He jumped into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine, even as Mirra settled down onto the torn seat. The tattered leather pricked the backs of her bare thighs, scratching like an ardent lover. She suppressed that thought. But her sex-hunger was nagging, demanding succour. Everything around her was taking on sexual connotations, because of her need, and her denial of it was so great.

  Not now! Not now! She forced away her mating instinct. Her talons extended into the seat, tearing the fabric, the sound like a knife splitting a melon. Pop. Rip. She braced herself against the seat, fighting for her own control as Ric swung the wheel hard and fast.

  With a squeal of tyres, the mustang tore out of concealment and careered down the alley, side-swiping a garbage bin before entering a main street.

  They sped along the street in silence. Mirra was aware that he stole glances at her, a measuring, that was both horrified and admiring. He was turned on, his pheromones washing over her, tasting like musk and...jungle. She frowned. Jungle? Her nostrils flared. She caught his deeper nuances, the thick, heavy tang of spice and heat.

  He was sexed-up. What he had seen would fry the brains of most men, but not this cop. He wanted to fuck her as much as she wanted him. He was resilient and strong. He’d need them and more if she was to… She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

  “Give me your mobile phone,” she said.

  “Who the hell you want to call?”

  “Backup.”

  “You a cop?”

  “No, but one of my sisters is. She has jurisdiction here. Every Blood-Hunter has to mop up messes from time to time. And for this mess, I need an expert. Give me your phone.”

  “This is unreal. Don’t you night-guys use telepathy?” He raised a dark, sardonic brow at her.

  “I’m not a guy!” she snapped.

  “Yeah, I noticed.” His gaze swept over her, lingering where her skirt bunched around her thighs.

  Mirra almost smiled. Almost. This human really was amusing. “Yeah, we have telepathy, but I’m too tired to mind-send. It’s not just as easy as closing your eyes and thinking. Hell’s Gates, it takes time.” She regarded him sardonically. “In a crisis, technology has its uses.”

  He snorted and dug into his jacket pocket, tossed the phone at her. She tapped out the number with her talon. After two rings, Sula answered. In the secret succubus tongue, Mirra told her mentor what had happened, all the while aware that Ric studied her, his lips tight, his hands curling around the steering wheel in a death lock.

  “Mirrazan, are you hurt? We felt the vibrations, the ether was writhing with the sex-energy the deaths released. A few of us…well, you know how we react to the discharge. Those fucking vamps!” Sula paused. Mirra heard the breath, deep, struggling for control. “The fangs are on them and a couple of the shifters. Where are you?”

  “Right now, in an old car, with a half-demented cop, driving down some Goddess-awful street.”

  Ric snorted. “I’m not half-demented.”

  Sula gasped. “What? What? Who was that? The man heard you! Bloody hell, Mirrazan, you’re speaking his language in his presence. Are you out of your mind?”

  Mirra blushed. She’d resorted to English, forgetting herself, forgetting the man. “I’m sorry.”

  “Get rid of him and get home. The queen has felt the vibrations and more. It’s not safe for any of us to be topside. You know what you have to do, Mirrazan. Don’t leave a witness. He isn’t worth it. Deal with him and come home. Now. I’m not asking.”

  Mirra severed the connection and held the phone between her hands. Her palms were sweaty and not just from fear. She was hungry and exhausted. She glanced sidelong at the cop. Sula had given her an order. The man must die. No human was allowed to know the truth. If they began to suspect that vampires, witches, shifters, the plethora of things-that-go-bump-in-the-night, the stuff of human legends—that they were no legends at all, but real, existing on their world, hunting, feasting, slaying, loving… The cop knew. He had to die.

  But the cop had given her his name.

  Ric.

  A name between succubus and hunted joined one to the other. A bond, a connection and from time immemorial that relationship was honoured. What was in a name? Everything. Unless that name was not a ‘true’ name.

  “Is Ric your real name?”

  He glanced at her. “Yeah.”

  Hell’s Gates. He’d used his real name, entrusted it to her and that meant she couldn’t kill him, whether in the heat of passion, or in cold blood. That was her law. Sula would not understand, or the others. And the queen would be told… Mirra swallowed against the horror writhing in the pit of her stomach. Blood-night wasn’t meant to be like this. “Is Ric short for Richard?”

  “Ricardo O’Connor Rodriguez.” She smiled at that. His lip quirked in response. “Yeah, I know, I’m a walking United Nations. Colombian, Irish, Australian and God knows what else.” He flexed his hands over the steering wheel, before gripping it again, his knuckles white against his olive skin. “You want to tell me what happened back there?”
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  “You’ve seen too much already.”

  “I want to know.”

  “It’ll cost you.”

  He smiled grimly. “Yeah, now why doesn’t that surprise me? What’s it gonna cost me?”

  “Probably your life.” If I don’t kill you, others will. That is the Blood Law.

  His jaw clenched and he glanced at her, his eyes as dark as midnight, his soul darker still. “I’ve faced death before.”

  “Not like this, you haven’t.”

  His aura shut down around him and with his eyes and jaw and mouth set and determined, he swerved the car across the lanes of traffic. Oncoming vehicles narrowly avoided hitting the mustang.

  Mirra, fighting back a scream, was flung against him. Her talons ripped free from the leather seat.

  He sent the car plummeting down a side road and slammed on the brakes. The car skidded sideways, coming to a halt in the shadows of another alley. Ric killed the engine. With a blur of speed he was facing her, his hand clamped around her wrist.

  “I’ve seen a lotta strange stuff, but you…” He glanced down at her red-painted hunter talon. “I want the truth. All of it.”

  She smiled tightly. “Do you, Ricardo O’Connor Rodriguez? Do you want to know that your world is but one small planet among a network of worlds that we of the Blood traverse and play and prey upon? That humans are nothing to any of us, but tools and meat and lives to be tormented and…sometimes killed. Do you want to know that?”

  Lifting her gaze to his, she saw in the depths of his eyes, the horror, the fascination, a soul old before his time because of what he had witnessed. Knowledge had its price—in blood, in life, in death. He was beginning to realise it. But with the horror, she also saw determination—fierce determination and compassion. But compassion for whom? Surely not for the woman who was once his friend and who was now an unholy monster, a creature to be hunted and slain? This man was unlike any other she had encountered.

  He sighed. “I have to help Monica. She was my partner. Hell, my friend.”

  “You want to help her? Then forget her. Forget what she has become and remember her how she was, because she will kill you without hesitation. Her transformation was through fear and pain, not love. If done with love…” Mirra shook her head. If done with love, no power in the universe was stronger than the bond between a Blood and their Consort.

  “And what are you?” Ric tugged her wrist, slamming her body against his.

  She gasped at his strength. The tingling fire swept through her as her breasts pressed against his black t-shirt. “Let me go. You’ll regret it if you don’t.” In her current mood, he was in danger. Her hunger was gnawing at her, eroding control.

  “Fuck regrets! Tell me what you are.”

  “I am not a what. You would call me a succubus. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Women demons who screw the brains and life out of their human victims. The answer to every guy’s wet dream.”

  “Or your nightmare, depending on what I decide to do to you.”

  “I don’t think so.” His gaze raked her from head to heels. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair which tonight was iridescent red, streaked with black, to match her leather miniskirt and camisole. “Honey you’re too small to threaten me.”

  “You equate size with power? How ironic. How human.”

  “Is that meant to accuse? I am what I am. At least I’m not some soul-devouring vampire demon.”

  “I don’t devour souls. Not enough sustenance for me, though others aren’t so particular.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”

  His wild gaze impaled her. Beneath his anger she saw his desire, the red flare of his aura. Curiosity burned within him, igniting his blood, fuelling his need. He was a man of deep hunger, deeper passion. Perhaps a man who could satisfy even her? She regarded him with narrowed eyes, her hearts hammering against her ribs.

  The heated cinnamon-spice of his arousal coiled into her nostrils, provoking her own desire. Danger heightened his allure. She had to run from him, and from the rogue vamps. But who was more dangerous? Ric or them? They were after her blood and only death—hers or theirs—would resolve this night’s frenzy. But Ric wanted her in ways he could not imagine until she held him, and allowed that union of sex and blood.

  She had been ordered to kill Ric, to tie up the loose ends. She couldn’t. She wanted him. She felt it in the taut muscles and the slow pulsing throb of blood in her veins. She licked her lips. Wanted him so badly it hurt.

  He pulled her closer, lifting her. She went without hesitation and as his mouth found hers, she kissed him back, her tongue meeting his, thrust for thrust, push for push, lick for lick. He groaned into her.

  “I want to fuck you senseless,” he said. “But I never do it in a car, it’s not...”

  “Not?”

  “Proper.”

  She laughed. “After what you’ve seen, you still care whether a car-fuck is proper? Great Goddess!” She pressed her palm against his erection, then slowly unzipped his pants. Her fingers stole in between the leather and found his rigid, hot cock, thick and long. Ahhh. Everything she could want. Needed. Desired. She leaned down and took him into her mouth, curling the tip of her tongue around the head. She suckled, while his fingers snaked through her hair. She felt palms sliding over her body, pushing up the camisole, cupping her full breasts.

  He tasted wild, intoxicating. His flesh was hard, warm, smooth. His thighs quivered and she heard his long, deep sigh. His hands lifted her head.

  “I want you on your back.” He paused, laughing softly. “My mama would slap me hard if she knew I was fucking a stranger in the backseat of my car. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “I’m Mirrazan.” She smiled, then froze, shocked. She’d told this man her name. Her true name. But it felt right. If nothing else, for the dangers they had shared this night, Ric had earned the right to her name. “And we’re not in the backseat.”

  “Not yet.” He lifted her up and over, and she slid down against the cool leather. He tugged off his jacket, set aside his holster and gun, and removed his t-shirt. In the moonlight she saw the muscles, the tensile strength of his body. Whipcord and silk, his skin tensed beneath her touch. A trail of fine dark hair led her gaze down his chest, to navel, disappearing into his leather pants. His magnificent cock jutted out from between the leather. Mystery and mastery—this she read in his eyes, in his body.

  “Ric,” she whispered.

  Smiling, he eased over her, nestling his weight between her thighs. He peeled off her boots, and raised one leg to nibble her ankle, her toes, biting gently. His fingers traced up her leg to her thigh, to her core.

  He laughed gently as he fingered her. “You shave there?”

  “Are you shocked?”

  “I don’t shock that easy. I like it, more skin to touch and taste.” He stroked down, found her clit and ran a nail over the sensitive mound. She arched off the seat.

  “Riiiiiiccccc.”

  “You enjoyed that? Good. Some more, then.”

  A finger dove into her, two, three, twisting around, parting her wide with his strokes, sometimes deep, then shallow. One finger to the side. Retreat. Two fingers centred. Retreat. Three fingers to the left, back and forth around and around. The pattern of his finger-fuck changing, keeping her guessing, driving her into a frenzy of need. All thought fled, to just the narrow focus of wanting him. For the first time in a long, long time, Mirra was mesmerised beneath a man’s firm, knowing ministrations. Heat raced through her, tension coiled. He kissed her deeply, tongues clashing, stroking, seducing.

  As she tugged at his pants, she heard his sharp hiss.

  “Christ, babe, sheathe those damn claws of yours, you cut me.”

  She carefully eased his pants down his body. He assisted, shucking his boots and flinging his trousers aside. She stared at him.

  “Ric, you’re beautiful.”

  “That’s my li
ne, isn’t it? You’re beautiful, Mirrazan. Beautiful.” He leaned into her and she stroked his arse, slipping her fingers between the cheeks, to his hard balls, to the base of his cock.

  “No, babe.”

  “Ric, don’t you want me to play with you?”

  “Nope. I’m going to fuck you hard and rough. Is that okay with you?”

  “Yes.”

  He settled over her, his weight parting her thighs, his cock plunging into her. For a moment her muscles clenched around the intrusion before accommodating his girth. His entry was sudden, deeper, the pace fast. It matched her mood, her hunger. Hard and fast. A need so deep it was frightening.

  He hammered her against the seat, the car rocking with his thrusts, with her thrusts in return. His hands spread beneath her buttocks, raising her up to accommodate new directions. She laced her fingers through his hair, absently feeling the texture—like velvet.

  For a moment the thought intruded that it was a pity his hair was cut short, she would have liked to twist his hair around her talons, suck it. He could always grow it for her in the future, because she was going to allow him to live. Ric. His name. Her responsibility. Her lover. Hers… She let him take her where he wished, inexorably to that oblivion. But he paused time after time as she came to her peak, as he neared his peak. With control, unusual for a human, he brought them both back to a level of restraint before beginning anew.

  She grasped his buttocks pushing him down, as far inside her as he could reach. In response, she felt his explosion. He flooded her and her own body wept with heat. He rocked against her as spasm after spasm engulfed him. She fed his hunger, fuelled his desire, taking him past the brink, feasting her fill of his sex. He spilled into her again, and she took all he offered, channelled it into her need, bringing them to another plane where desire, hunger, pain and death lurked. So easily, she could take everything from him, his love, his sex, his life… But he would live and she would love him.

  He moaned, and she closed the drain of his energy to her, enjoying, instead, his strokes within her, the musky-spice smell of his body over her, the feel of his warm, sweat-slicked skin sliding over her.