The Hunters 6: Rafe and Sheila Read online

  “To leave?” Rafe growled.

  “Yes. A new Master, she thought, a new home, might solve the problem she’s been dealing with.” Nothing would solve it, Eli knew, not until Rafe stopped being so bloody stubborn, but some distance might help Sheila heal a little bit.

  And just might force Rafe’s hand, making him do what he should have done months ago. Admit that he was in love with her.

  “What problem?” Rafe demanded, shooting to his feet. “She Hunts once a week, takes Erika shopping and acts like a babysitter for the kid. And cooking. Cooking, for crying out loud. What fucking problem?”

  His black hair tumbled into his eyes and he shoved it back as he started to pace, mumbling and swearing under his breath.

  Eli heard every word.

  “I believe she is lonely. I suggested she go find a man and get…fucked six different ways to Sunday. Well, that was Sarel’s phrase. But it suits, I think,” Eli said, bracing himself, and reminding himself that Rafe was a friend, and that killing him wouldn’t help Rafe or Sheila’s predicament.

  Of course, when Rafe leaped over the desk and tore him out of his chair with startling speed, Eli did have to admit that he might have a bit more of a fight on his hands than he had previously thought. But he hadn’t been planning on fighting at all. Throttling down the instinct to battle, he gave Rafe an innocent look and forced a fake bellow, “What the hell is your bloody problem?”

  “You told her to what?” Rafe demanded in a low deadly whisper.

  “Fuck me, she’s a lovely, loving young woman. And she’s lonely. You don’t want her anymore, but nobody here will give her a damn glance for fear of insulting you. She needs a man, so I told her to go find one,” Eli said, reaching up and shoving Rafe back.

  Rafe went flying, but he took a handful for Eli’s silk vest with him. Glancing down, Eli scowled. “Now that was just uncalled for. Sarel bought that for me,” he snapped as he took the tattered remains off and held it up. Even Sheila with her talented hands couldn’t fix this one, had she been around.

  “You told her to go find a man?” Rafe repeated, his fangs protruding past his upper lip, his black eyes gleaming red in his rage.

  “Aye. I did.” Eli allowed a tiny smile to appear as he cocked his head. “That really shouldn’t be a problem for you…but it looks like it is. Why is that?”

  Rafe went completely still as he glared at Eli.

  And then he stalked out.

  Rafe couldn’t believe Eli had sent Sheila off to get fucked.

  You don’t want her anymore… What in the hell was that bullshit? Eli knew damned good and well Sheila was the only thing he wanted.

  She filled his days and his nights, haunted his sleep.

  Not want her? Damn it, there hadn’t been a day that had gone by in the last year that he hadn’t wanted her.

  He’d never wanted anybody the way he wanted Sheila. As he sped out of West Virginia, he promised himself he’d have her again. Soon. He’d get her to forgive him, get her to let him back into her life.

  Because his was empty without her.

  Bleak, cold, and empty.

  She was in Memphis.

  Rafe had been prowling around searching for her for damn near two weeks. He’d tried Georgia, tried the beaches in Miami. Knowing how the girl loved to party, he had been expecting to find her at one of her old haunts, but, no, the southern belle couldn’t be that cooperative.

  Shit, she wouldn’t know cooperation if it bit her on the ass. His lids drooped as he recalled that fine ass, those plump rounded curves he had held as he fucked that sweet, soft body.

  Not in Miami. Not in Atlanta. And she hadn’t returned home to West Virginia, either. He knew, because he had bribed Mike into calling him if she so much as showed that pretty blonde head within a mile of the enclave or Eli’s territory.

  He had been driving through Tennessee and had an urge to head west. Driving down I-40, he planned to find a bar on Beale Street

  , get drunk and find some sweet thing to slake his thirst. Just feed though. Although he ached, the only woman he wanted was Sheila. And she wouldn’t have him, not as things stood now anyway.

  She wanted more. She wanted his heart.

  But his heart had died in New York City more than a hundred and fifty years ago, the night the woman he had thought he loved had changed him into a bloody vampire. Hell, he had loved Sarah. Desperately. With all the passion and heart he’d had inside him.

  Then she had revealed why he could only see her at night, why she wouldn’t leave the life she had working as a lady of the night in the streets of New York. She had to have the sex, had to have the blood—he hadn’t believed her.

  It wasn’t until she’d Changed him, draining him to the point of near death and then forcing her blood down his throat that he’d believed. And after she’d changed him, she’d just walked away, leaving him alone to starve and die, laughing mockingly as she’d called over her shoulder, “You are a wonderful customer, Rafe, so young, so eager and innocent. But you bore me.”

  That had hardened his heart until it had withered away inside his chest, rarely beating in this new life he had been forced into. He had damned near died that first day, too fucking weak to get out of the sun as dawn broke, the hunger burning through his belly, driving him nearly insane.

  And then, along came Malachi. Rafe’s lip curled as he recalled how pathetic he must have looked. The Scotsman had crouched by his shoulder, shaking his head, his dark blue eyes grim. “She had a bit o’ fun wit’ you, lad, I kin tell,” he had murmured before picking Rafe up.

  Rafe had snarled, “I can fucking walk on my own. Put me down, you bastard.”

  Mal had almost laughed. Rafe could see the amusement in his eyes, but he couldn’t understand the sympathy that had stopped the mirth as the Scotsman stared at the young man whose pride and heart had been demolished. The ability to read the mind of a vampire wasn’t one Rafe had ever developed, but over time, he’d realized that Malachi had that gift, among many others.

  And Mal had seen. So he’d jerked him to his feet, and supported his weight, guiding him out of the alley just as the sun had started to burn down on him, scorching his flesh, sending untold agony through him.

  Closing his eyes, Rafe shoved the unwelcome memories away as he hit the suburbs surrounding the outskirts of Memphis. It was two a.m., the cool October wind blew through his hair as he headed toward Beale Street.

  A beer, a woman… He wanted nothing more than to relieve the ache in his cock, but he knew the touch of any woman other than the smart-assed southern belle would leave him cold.

  She had no more than passed through his thoughts when he felt her. He shouldn’t be able to feel her, sense her…a vampire, yes, he would feel that. And he did, several vampires, some Weres…but to feel one and know it was her—that shouldn’t be possible.

  But he did.

  Running his tongue over his fangs, he drove on. As he reached Sam Cooper Boulevard the feeling grew.

  Like somebody had just whispered the knowledge into his ear, Rafe knew where she was. She’d been partying all right. Just not in Miami.

  Beale Street. Listening to the throb of rich blues, dancing, finding somebody to take to her bed.

  He’d found her, damn it. But what in the hell was he going to do with her? He knew what he wanted.

  Of course, what it would take to get there was anybody’s guess.

  * * * * *

  The hot, rich taste of his blood flowed down her throat like the finest wine. Sheila felt her nipples tighten even harder as she absorbed the rush of Dom’s orgasm. His hips arched as he drove his cock deep inside and held, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass. The climax broke over her as she pulled away from his neck, leaving two small puncture wounds in his golden flesh.

  Until Dom, it had been months since she had felt a man’s arms around her, felt the heat of his hunger as she fucked and fed.

  Dominic had been the first man, since Rafe, whose touch hadn
’t left her cold. There had been a few others she’d considered, but their touches had made her skin crawl.

  Until Dom.

  His resemblance to Rafe was unmistakable. Physically, at least.

  But beyond that… Dominic was a romantic. Dominic treated her like a person, not just a fuck toy.

  He was a ladies’ man and he appreciated her, didn’t want just a quick fuck from her whenever he felt horny. Oh, she knew he wanted sex. Hell, he was a guy. But he bothered to spend time with her…had actually wanted to.

  Rafe couldn’t have cared less once his dick slid out of her.

  With a tremendous act of will, she shoved Rafe’s face from her mind as she collapsed against Dom’s broad chest, the fingers of one hand absently caressing the gold hoop that ran through one nipple. He’d switched it to gold. She had shied away in instinctive fear when she’d seen it, and lied that she was allergic to silver. Well, not really a lie—silver was definitely not good for her health.

  He had removed the hoop that night, and the next night there was a gold one there instead. She had greatly enjoyed tugging on that tiny piece of metal with her teeth.

  “Damn—that was amazing,” Dom murmured, his voice thick, sluggish. She kept the move casual as she rested her hand on his heart. She knew she hadn’t taken too much, but still…the paranoia was always there.

  He was a wonderful guy. He didn’t deserve the life of a vampire.

  She stroked her hand down his chest once she had reassured herself that he was fine. Just a little woozy.

  “Mmmm…tell me. Go to sleep, baby. You had a long day,” she whispered, cuddling in against him as close as she could.

  “You be here when I wake up, sugar?”

  She hedged. “I don’t know, Dom. Depends on how late you sleep,” she said, already knowing she’d be gone in a few hours. Couldn’t take that chance.

  But he was already asleep, the deep, steady sighs of breath escaping him as he shifted slightly on the pillow.

  As she sat up, she felt it.

  The anger in the air.

  Anger, hell.

  That was too tepid a word for what she was sensing. A deep, burning rage that battered at her mind until an artificial red seeped in—run off from his rage.

  Her belly pitched and she felt the fangs that had slid back into their sheaths drive back out with a speed that startled her. Danger…

  Rising from the bed, she tossed the heavy banner of her golden curls behind her shoulder. Damn it. Something from her world had found her here, with her lover, and it would put him in danger.

  Over my dead body, she thought furiously, her eyes flying around the room, searching for the intruder she sensed, but couldn’t see.

  “Actually, Belle, I’d rather it be his,” a low, furious voice whispered.

  She spun around and saw Rafe standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at Dom with a rage so great that his eyes burned red with it. He gripped his sword in one hand, the other stroked idly up and down the edge as he stared at Dominic.

  Sheila felt the fear that had flooded her dissipating as she studied Rafe. “Oh, it’s just you,” she said, her tone bored. Flicking her eyes to his blade, she smirked a little. “I see you still carry around your security blanket.” She turned around and sauntered over to where the clothes she and Dom had discarded lay in a haphazard pile. Dom’s white button-down was the closest, so she grabbed it and jammed her arms into the sleeves, turning around to see Rafe lift his gaze from the bed to stare at her.

  A shiver ran down her spine at that look, but she kept her face blank. She’d given him enough emotion. She’d be damned if she gave him any more.

  “Get that shirt off,” he rasped, the bulge of his fangs pressing against his upper lip.

  Jeez, he was pissed. She frowned at him. “What’s got you so worked up? Boxers too tight?” she drawled, flopping down onto the bland couch so many hotels offered and cocking her head as she studied him.

  “You are pushing your luck, Sheila. Get the fucking shirt off. Now!”

  The rage that rolled from him came with a dominance that all but forced her to obey. But her own pride, her own anger, still so vivid after the past months, gave her the strength to ignore his demand.

  “No,” she replied, arching a golden brow at him and smiling. “I’m not sitting here naked in front of you, babe.”

  “Why not? I’ve seen every sweet little part of that body you just shared with him,” Rafe purred. He held out the short sword and stroked the flat of it up her thigh, then touched the tip of it to one of the buttons. “Get it off.”

  Baring her teeth at him, she snarled, batting the sword away from her. “Would you shut up? He’s pretty damned tired, but if you keep yelling, it’s going to wake him up. I’d rather not have to explain why Count Dracula’s cousin is looming over him,” she snapped, rising from the couch and walking over to the bed to look down at Dom. Extending her mind, she touched his. She couldn’t do it to many, just to those she fed on. She wasn’t a powerful vampire, and suspected she wouldn’t ever be.

  But she made do with what she had.

  He was still deep, deep asleep. With a silent command, she made sure he’d stay that way until well after dawn, when she’d have to flee. Lifting her eyes, she stared at Rafe with a patently bored look in her eyes.

  “Won’t you just go away?” she drawled, tossing her hair over her shoulder before planting her hands on her hips.

  “Hmmm, well, I will. When I do what I came here for,” he replied. His eyes were glittering and if she wasn’t mistaken, his heart was kicking up, pounding with faster, harder beats.

  Not as fast as a mortal’s, but much faster than a vamp’s heart ought to beat. He was well and truly worked up about something. She hadn’t ever seen him this worked up over anything. Hell, she’d rarely seen any emotion from him…except for that last night…he had been emotional then, hot, demanding, focused… With a slight shiver, she shoved that unwelcome memory out of her mind as she drawled, “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  “You.”

  Rafe saw the hot fire of fury die in her eyes, replaced by blank disbelief. It was almost comical enough to cool the rage in his gut.

  Almost. Because the sweet scent of her skin that had driven him damn near insane for months had changed, mingled with the scent of another man’s sweat and semen. That had him so fucking furious, he could barely breathe. Not that he really had to breathe, it was just habit. But damn it, how in the hell could she just walk away, and start fucking any man she saw?

  “You are here for me… Is there some problem at home I should be aware of—wait, if that was the case, Eli can reach me very easily. Reach out and touch someone, ya know?”

  Rafe flicked one last glance at the human lying unconscious on the bed, the two tiny pinprick holes in his neck already starting to shrink, thanks to the rather fantastic chemicals in a vampire’s saliva. Rage ate at his gut, and he had visions of taking his blade and plunging it into the man’s gut, watching as he died. He’d fucked Sheila. The bastard.

  Clenching his jaw, he slid his sword back into the sheath that ran down his spine, shifting it automatically into place. If he held onto it, he didn’t know if he could trust himself not to hurt that bastard, at least a little.

  He walked around the bed, his eyes on her face, watching as her lashes flickered. The pulse in her neck fluttered and he caught the scent of her blood, hot and ripe, full of the power the feeding and the sex had given her. It was teasing, taunting him, that hot, sweet scent. And under it, the flat, metallic scent of male human blood. “As always, pet, you smell delicious. But I don’t care for your taste in food.”

  Sheila gave an indelicate snort, rolling those expressive blue eyes as she spun on her heel, sauntering away. “Well, I tried to do the vegetarian diet, but it just didn’t work with my metabolism,” she said brightly as she lowered herself back to the couch.

  Rafe’s eyes flickered to the long curve of her legs as she crossed them at the
knee, the shirt riding up to reveal smooth, plumply rounded thighs. Damn, but he loved her body, a woman’s body, not some anorexic stick. An ass he could actually grab onto, that soft belly and her rounded hips a perfect contrast to the lean hardness of his own body. Nothing about her was hard, not her hair, not her skin, not that lush body…

  Lifting his eyes, he encountered an icy blue gaze as she felt his touch and he reevaluated. Something was hard. That glint in her eyes hadn’t been there before. Her eyes were cool, hard and flat as she smoothed the shirt down, covering as much of her flesh from his eyes as she could.

  “Hiding from me, Southern Belle?” he asked gently, cocking up a brow.

  She slowly shook her head as she softly replied, “Hiding would imply you were trying to find me, that there was something on me you liked looking at. I wasn’t enough for you to want much from me months ago. All you want is sex and you can get that anywhere. You told me that once. Nothing has changed.”

  Not enough? Rafe couldn’t believe she had said that. She had thrown him out on his ass, damn it. Told him she wasn’t taking his shit anymore and just turned away from him.

  Well…maybe there had been something more than just her flipping out and deciding she didn’t want him around. Like the fact that he didn’t stay with her as they slept. How he never let himself look at her, unless he was getting her naked. How he didn’t let himself touch her in public…she had gotten inside his blood. And he wouldn’t let that happen again, he wouldn’t let himself care for anybody. Not that the shriveled mess that was his heart would ever love again—but you could still care for somebody, and not love them.

  It wasn’t happening. Not to him, not again.

  “Just because I’m not interested in picking out sheets or paint swatches doesn’t mean I’m not interested, doll,” Rafe finally said. Damn it. Why did it have to be more? Always more…why wasn’t just the sex enough?

  Sheila softly said, “I never asked for that. But it might have been nice for you to want to be with me even if our clothes weren’t off.”