Reaper's Dark Kiss Page 4

  Losing control to the haeze lust, he thrust into her until his belly was up against her. He then drew back. This time, when he drove into her, Sky’s body seemed to shatter with pleasure as her climax rushed through her. The feel of her spasms around his cock was too much for Julian. He abandoned himself to the primal urges burning through him and gripped Sky’s ass tighter. He surrendered to all the pent-up passions he’d controlled for so long and pumped hard into her, gritting his teeth.

  He looked down at her, writhing in ecstasy. Her hands out to her sides, she twisted the sheets in trembling fists. Her gaze was locked on his as Julian stroked into her, each thrust rocking her slender body, making her breasts jump in time to his hard rhythm.

  Mine, Julian’s beast growled.

  Julian couldn’t bear another moment. He sank into Sky, his fingers tight on her ass, and flooded into her. A primal roar ripped from him between clenched teeth.

  “Forever,” Julian said in the guttural voice of his beast as he let himself go inside Sky.

  He lost himself in the pleasure of that moment. Sky’s cries as another climax washed through her were distant. All he knew as he slammed into her was the all-consuming ecstasy of melding with her, taking her, claiming her.

  He didn’t know how long went by before he let out a breath and leaned over and kissed her softly. Her thighs around Julian, her fingers laced together behind his neck, she pressed her lips to his, both of them sated for the moment.

  The storm had cleared. A half-moon shone through a low window, catching them both in a silver shaft of light.

  “Don’t go,” Sky whispered. “Please.”

  “Not going anywhere,” Julian said against her ear. “Ever.”

  There was no sense of waking from the dream. Sky’s warmth was suddenly gone, leaving Julian alone in the cool bed of his Dakota Building apartment.

  She shall be mine!

  His beast snarled in frustration.

  The words pulsed through Julian in a wave of lust, primitive and unreasoning. His cock, hard and heavy between his legs, throbbed and ached. He didn’t know how much of this he could stand before instinct made him simply rip Sky’s clothes from her body and have her.

  Chapter Seven

  Christian Jordan, Sky’s brother, was one of the toughest men in the country, maybe in the world. He was a Green Beret. He always told Sky he had two jobs. Overseas he kicked ass on government orders; at home he kicked ass if anyone was dumb enough to break the First Rule of Christian—do not think of messing with my little sister.

  It was two in the morning in New York, and who knew what time in Afghanistan or wherever CJ was. He was the engineer guy for his ODA, his Special Forces unit. From what Sky could figure out, he built things and blew up things. CJ never talked about his work. He never told her where he was. But he always called, always found time to be her big brother.

  Sky was running short on small talk. She was desperately hoping Julian wouldn’t come up. But after twenty minutes, CJ asked her a question, then nearly lost his cool at her answer.

  “Jesus Christ, Sky,” CJ said. “You don’t even know his last name?”

  There was no computer system in the world CJ couldn’t hack. He snooped into her phone records routinely. Sky had been on the phone with Julian every day for almost three weeks, sometimes twice a day. By now he was pinging hard on CJ’s watch-over-little-sister radar.

  Sky put her laptop to sleep, got up from her desk where she’d been working when CJ called, and flopped into one of her oversize armchairs. “It’s not like we’re getting married,” she said, deflecting her brother’s question.

  A sigh started halfway around the world and came through Sky’s phone. “Did you put an alarm on your apartment like I told you?”

  To anyone else, it would have sounded like CJ was backing off, but Sky knew better. He was figuring out another approach. He’d circle back. “I’ve been busy,” she said. “Lots of work lately.”

  “I read your Fang Killer stories. They’re good. There’s something about them,” CJ said, and Sky thought, Uh-oh. “Like you had inside information. You’re not going places you shouldn’t be, are you?”

  Besides Central Park in the middle of night? No. Not really. It was Julian. Sometimes he let things slip, like how all the victims were a clue to some bigger crime. Or how the person doing it didn’t want to, but he had to. Those snippets of what Sky thought of as ghost info colored her articles, made them more solid. “No,” she said to her brother. “It’s just a feeling I get when I talk to”—she’d almost said Julian’s name—“to my sources.”

  Static hissed, reminding Sky how far away her brother was. She felt a stab of heartache at that. Their parents had died in a car accident when Sky was eleven and CJ was nineteen. He’d put off his plans to join the army and worked two jobs so Sky could live with him in New York. When she went away to college, he went to SFAS, Special Forces training.

  “What are you doing about the alarm?”

  “What are you doing about a wife?”

  That almost always derailed CJ, but not tonight. “Where does he live?” he asked.

  He’d circled back. “Montana,” she said.

  Heavy silence came from CJ before he said, “It’s a huge state.” He’d slowed down to patient and watchful.

  “Yeah,” Sky said, injecting innocence into her voice. “And pretty too.”

  “SkyLynne?”

  Trouble. He only called her that when he was dead serious. “You don’t think it’s pretty?”

  “Where in Montana?”

  She had no idea. “You’re interrogating me. Stop it.” Maybe pissed-off little sister would work for now.

  “He doesn’t come up anywhere, Sky. It’s like he’s a ghost. Invisible. And I don’t mean like me.” CJ didn’t show up anywhere unless he wanted to be found. “There’s something not right about him.”

  Sky knew where this was going. Last spring, she’d interviewed Mohammad Jaheer. His cousin was a terrorist financing his network by laundering money through Miami car dealerships. In return for witness protection, Mohammad had worked with the FBI to go after his family. It had taken months to land the exclusive interview. He’d insisted she stay at his Palm Beach mansion. No phone. No Internet access. She’d agreed, but the four days in Palm Beach had lined up with four of CJ’s calls. To him, no answers to his calls, four days of dead time on her phone, and zero outgoing e-mail traffic added up to something gone very, very wrong.

  When she got home, CJ was pacing her living room, talking on a satellite phone. Sky railed at him about having her own life and being old enough to go where she wanted and what the hell was he doing sneaking into her apartment.

  That was the first time she’d been able to imagine her brother in combat. She’d seen the raw edge of his temper. He threatened her with Green Town. It was sort of a witness-protection program for immediate family of Special Forces whose identity had been compromised. Their spouses and children were moved, given new identities, new jobs. CJ wasn’t married, so Sky was his immediate family.

  When CJ saw how badly he’d frightened Sky, he backed off about Green Town. He gave her a fourteen-digit phone number and made her promise to text him daily before she went to sleep. And no more assignments where she didn’t have access to her phone. She’d kept her promise because Sky didn’t quite believe her brother. She knew what would happen if she made CJ desperate and worried enough. Very big men with crew cuts and guns bulging under their arms would show up at her door with a name tag that said Jane Stone and a job offer to sell perfume in Macy’s…in Iowa.

  “Text me before you go to bed?” CJ asked quietly.

  It made Sky mad that CJ was acting as if Julian were a criminal who would hurt her. “I’m fine,” she said, holding on to her temper.

  In a deadpan voice that made it impossible for Sky to know what he was thinking, CJ said, “I’m just trying to keep it like that, Sky.”

  Arguing with her brother would do no good. He’d
just call back tomorrow night, and the night after that. Then he’d be out on a mission, and then he’d call again until he got what he wanted. She couldn’t win this, but she could negotiate. Her brother was a killer negotiator, and he knew when to give a little to get a little. “I’ll text by one in the afternoon. Every day for one week.” If he wanted her to text, she had a bargaining chip. She used it now, adding, “If you promise no more spying on Julian.”

  She could almost feel CJ going over the negotiation in his mind, weighing out both sides. His voice was slow and calm as he said, “You’ll text for a while.”

  “CJ—”

  “Not forever,” he said. “Just till I feel like everything’s okay. I’ll check by 3:00 p.m. your time. No text, and I’ll trace this guy’s ancestors back to Eden.” He paused, and when Sky didn’t protest, he said, “Good enough?”

  CJ would keep his word. If Sky texted, he wouldn’t do any more digging on Julian. And that was good, because if he did an all-out search, Sky had a feeling he’d find nothing. Nothing at all. And that, she knew, would get her brother thinking about Green Town.

  “Good enough, Sky?” CJ asked again.

  It was unreasonable. It was OCD. It was her brother, all the family she had, and Sky loved him. Besides, Christian was a Green Beret for a reason. There was no quit in him. “Roger that, big brother.”

  “Love you, little sister. I have to go.”

  “Christian?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Stay safe.”

  “Always.”

  Then he was gone. She tried to imagine CJ and Julian meeting, but all Sky could think of was Fourth of July fireworks, the kind that turned night to day.

  Chapter Eight

  It happened when Sky wasn’t looking. Julian subtly wove himself into the fabric of her life. He explained that his client rose late in the morning and Julian only guarded him when he was out in public. Mostly he stayed home, so Julian had light duty, and he pretty much had his nights to himself. Something about the story didn’t sit right with Sky, but she was willing to wait Julian out.

  When he first called and told Sky his client was “in for the night” and asked to come over, Sky was hesitant. She was very busy working the Fang Killer series she’d been assigned. But at Julian’s gentle persistence, she let him visit.

  True to his word, Julian let her work. It was as though he was used to being quiet and still for long periods of time. He spent a couple of nights carefully reading through every article in Sky’s clippings binder, including the embarrassing early pieces hidden at the back.

  Some nights, he’d show up with groceries and make a simple meal, like steak and eggs or stir-fry. There was no chatter from the kitchen. He never left a mess. His brisk efficiency in the kitchen reminded Sky of CJ. Julian cooked like a soldier on a mission. He let Sky work right up until dinner was ready, and then they’d eat around two in the morning. Sky noticed that for a big guy, Julian hardly ate more than a mouthful.

  The first night he cooked for her, Sky spent a comical ten minutes showing Julian how to load a dishwasher and turn it on. It was as if he’d never seen one before. After that, he’d load it after dinner and leave so Sky could work. The moment she locked the door after him, she wished he was still there.

  Julian never asked to stay the night. Before he left, he’d give Sky a chaste kiss on her cheek. At first she thought he was afraid to ask to stay, but as time went by, she saw more and more of an old-fashioned streak in him. Julian, Sky discovered, was on his own timetable, and she liked it fine.

  Their first almost fight was over an assignment Sky had taken on even though she was nearly on overload with the Fang Killings.

  She had an interview with Jerry Louis, a former bus driver who’d stood trial for murder, then made a fortune publishing his memoir, Not Funny. According to him, his innocent verdict had nothing to do with the police breaking the chain of evidence.

  “Why don’t you meet him at night, and then I can go with you?” Julian said.

  They were at Aunt Millie’s. The after-midnight crowd was mostly off-off Broadway actors who liked to hang out in a place where two guys could kiss and no one would look their way.

  “He wants to meet in the daytime in a public place,” Sky said. “We’ll be on 42nd Street. Practically thousands of people will be around.”

  “What difference does that make in New York?” Julian let the waitress refill their coffees before he asked, “Does he know where you live?”

  “It’s an interview, Julian, not a date. Don’t go caveman on me.”

  “He kills people, Sky.” Julian said it through clenched teeth, obviously struggling to control his temper.

  “He only killed one.”

  “They only found one.”

  “This is what I do.” Sky said it calmly. She didn’t want to fight. She absolutely wasn’t falling in love with Julian, but that didn’t mean she wanted to fight with him. “I know how to stay safe. Trust me.”

  “It’s not you I don’t trust.”

  “Dinner tomorrow?” Sky took Julian’s big hand. “Chinatown? Your pick.”

  Rubbing a thick, roughened finger over her palm, Julian said, “I want this guy’s information. I’ll be calling you. If you don’t answer, I’m going looking for him.”

  Sky leaned across the table, cupped her hand, and whispered, “I don’t think he’s your type.”

  In the end, she’d given Julian her interview’s full name and last known address.

  During the time Julian and Sky were getting to know each other, the Fang Killer’s schedule slowed down to only two bodies in six weeks. Sky told herself there was no connection between Julian’s ongoing vigils in the park—which he refused to talk about—and the slowed killings, but doubt overshadowed those thoughts.

  When things changed, when Sky’s world tumbled, they were in Aunt Millie’s. Julian, who was usually as still as a statue in meditation, was tracing random circles on the table. He’d been distant all night. She shifted her talk to the sublimely ridiculous, trying to pull Julian back from the depths he’d slipped into.

  “And then,” Sky said, “I thought I’d scale the Empire State Building. See if it’s true Homeland Security has helicopter snipers who can pick off a climber without shattering glass.”

  “Climb where?” Julian said. His voice was quiet, faraway.

  “Talk,” Sky said. “Spit it out before it chokes you.”

  Julian pressed his palms together as if he were about to pray, then rested his forehead against them. “I have to go home.”

  Only then did Sky realize she’d allowed herself to believe Julian would always be there. For a long moment, she couldn’t say anything. Then finally, she asked, “When are you coming back?”

  “About two weeks,” Julian said.

  “Montana?”

  “I don’t like leaving you here,” he said. “I don’t like men following you around. I don’t like you being out at night alone.”

  From nowhere Sky was on the edge of tears. This was how the falling apart always started.

  “Hey,” Julian said softly. He reached for her, caressed her face. “I’m coming back for you.” He tilted her chin up until their eyes met. “No serial-killer interviews while I’m gone.” It was the closest Julian ever came to a joke.

  She managed a smile. “I’ll hold off till you get back.”

  “I have to go. It’s part of the family business. I’d stay if I could.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll call,” Julian told her. “Promise.”

  In almost two months, Julian had never broken his word. “I know.”

  He leaned over and kissed Sky’s cheek like a man from another age, a different time. It was more a sign of what it meant to be with Julian than anything else he could have done.

  “When I get back, I’ll show you some new tunnels,” he said, and as if he could read her mind, he added, “and give you a real kiss.”

  Looking right into Julian’s eyes,
Sky asked, “Tunnel or back alley?”

  “Both,” he said. “Maybe more than once.” And then with a slow smile that made warmth pool between Sky’s legs, he whispered, “Maybe naked.”

  The night Julian left, the eighth body was found in the park.

  Chapter Nine

  In a brownstone on the edge of Washington Square Park, in a parlor decorated more than a century ago, stood the Fang Killer. Standing before his window, Vandar was barely shielded by UV glass from a world he could never enter.

  The council imposed what mortals would call a fulfillment quota on how many vampires the Dominion could create in one revolution around the planet’s star. Each year’s crop was Kraeyl’s special undertaking. To delve into the histories of those he brought to Vandar as fledglings was a great source of pleasure to Kraeyl.

  Vandar had created Margaret, the vampire behind him, sometime last year. This morning, Kraeyl had given him her history.

  When taken from the mortal world at a mere twenty-two years of age, she had lived a sheltered and protected past. That she’d found her way to the Dominion at all was odd. When she was eighteen, a submission of her artwork had won her entry to a place called the Art Institute of New York. Then her father died of a sudden heart attack. She never entered the art school. She’d supported herself by working in places where mortals had themselves drawn on with ink markings.

  “It won’t happen again, sir,” the vampire was saying, her voice a terrified murmur.

  Vandar was tired. He was thirsty. He flexed his hands into fists powerful enough to pulverize stone.

  The vampire swallowed loudly and went on. “I didn’t know.” There was a hitch in her voice. “I mean I did, but—”

  He could bear no more. “Cease your prattling,” he said. The young were difficult to work with, but their unquestioning obedience was useful. He turned away from the window to face her. “You were found in Creed territory where I have expressly forbidden younglings to go.”

  “I didn’t go armed, sir,” she said.

  Of course she didn’t. At perhaps a little over a hundred pounds, she was hardly a warrior.