He moved deep within her, tasting her mouth, teeth and tongue, giving her the urgent intensity of contact she gave him. It was as if they were starving and had found sustenance in an enemy masked by desire.
Thinking of satisfying her blood hunger brought down her fangs. Amidst the crush of their mouths, Lyric’s fang pricked her lower lip. She pulled from the kiss, wiped a finger over the blood, and then traced it along the inner side of Vail’s lower lip.
He pushed her away, and she stumbled awkwardly to land against the wall, arms dumbly slapping it. “What the hell?”
Vail sucked at his lip and spit her blood onto the floor. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Seriously?” She followed his pace toward the window. “I get that we were both screwing with each other right now. But you … spit out my blood? I thought you were vampire?”
He spun on her, his overwhelming height shadowing the moon framed in the window. “I am.”
Lyric touched the flesh beside his eye. “No, you’re not. This isn’t club glitter. You said you were familiar with Faery? You really are a dust freak.”
CHAPTER FOUR
FAERY ICHOR TO VAMPIRES was like meth to mortals. And once the vamp got a taste, he needed more, more and more. Lyric knew, because a dust freak had once worked for Charish, and had caused chaos for the few days he’d resided at the Santiago mansion.
“I just … do it to maintain,” Vail said, with a stroke of his thumb across the black stuff smudging his eyes.
“Maintain?” Lyric didn’t hide a shake of her head. “That’s what they all say while they’re lying in some dust den, sucking in the ichor. It’s so obvious now. You have sparkle issues.”
“Is that so? Well, you’re avoiding the real issue. Like the fact there is no fence, and you expect I’m going to wait this out forever. Don’t be stupid, Lyric.”
“I’m not stupid. But neither am I willing to trust a dust freak.”
He gripped her shoulder and spun her about. It hurt, his fingers digging into her skin, but she wasn’t about to let him see her pain. Lyric pulled the ice princess on and stiffened her spine.
“I’m immune to dust,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot of time in Faery. Now that I’m in the mortal realm, I need to take dust every now and then to maintain it in my body—otherwise I’d go through withdrawals.”
“Sounds like an addict to me.” She shoved him away.
A flash of moonlight glinted at the corner of his eye, like a beacon calling her to fix on his dark glamour. It wasn’t worth the risk if he was a dust freak.
“This little dance we’re doing is getting old, Vail. I’m tired, but most of all, I’m hungry.”
“You tell me where to find the gown, and I’ll let you out to scam for some blood.”
“You won’t offer me your own?”
“Would you take it?”
“No. Wouldn’t want to have to maintain because of you.”
If even a trace of faery ichor scurried through his veins, she’d taste it and she’d become addicted like that. Addiction was not something Lyric was willing to risk simply because the blood hunger currently tightened her veins and made her jittery.
“Let’s make a deal,” she said, smoothing a hand over her thigh to distract from the burgeoning shakes. “There’s a club down the street. They play heavy metal and the blood is always hyped with adrenaline. Let’s both go out and have a drink, then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“You tell me what I want to know, I’ll let you out on a leash.”
“Bastard.”
“Ice princess.”
“Oh, you use that tired old title, too? And here I was beginning to think you weren’t like the rest of the male vampires. I’m going.”
She started for the window, but he beat her to it, sliding across the bed before she could touch it.
“Fine.” Vail parked himself on the windowsill, blocking her escape. He clasped his ringed fingers together and narrowed surprisingly compassionate eyes on her. “I know what it’s like to hunger. You’re not going to give me anything until you’re satiated, relaxed.”
“You got that right.”
“I’m not a complete creep. I’ll let you feed.”
“Thank you.”
“But we’re not going inside the club. I need to keep you close. You try to get away, you’re going to regret it.”
“Ooh, you going to dust me with your sparkle juice?”
“You willing to take that chance?”
She met his steely blue gaze. Faery dust glittered about his eyes and in his hair. It must seep from his very pores. She wondered now if she’d gotten any on her hands, but did not look, because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. A little skin contact wasn’t going to make her high—the dust had to enter her veins. She hoped.
“I’m sure we can find a nice mortal couple in the parking lot. One for each of us,” she said.
“I don’t do mortals.”
Comment wasn’t necessary. That was apparent. The guy was fucked up, and that would make her escape a breeze. She just had to play along for a while. “Let’s go.”
HE DIDN’T TRUST HER as far as he could blow dust into the eyes of his enemies. And that was about five, six feet maximum.
After a five-minute walk they stood outside Club Vert. Hard, growling music pounded through the brick walls, and patrons danced outside the back doors, which were curvy and appealing, designed after the Art Nouveau style.
Vail and Lyric sat on the hood of a black Renault Mégane, watching the crowd shift in and out of the club. The interior was decorated in more Art Nouveau and plenty of green, Lyric explained. The club offered absinthe that mortals inhaled through a long straw, à la freebasing, as opposed to drinking. Provided a faster, cleaner high. Vail favored absinthe himself, but not extracted from mortal veins.
“Those two.” Lyric jumped from the car and smoothed palms over her hips and down her backside.
Vail couldn’t help but appreciate the tight curve of her derrière. The soft red dress conformed like skin on skin, emphasizing the slight cleft and the sexy dimples at the base of her spine. Those long legs had to end somewhere in the vicinity of her armpits. Legs like that could wrap around him and hold on for the ride.
Legs like that could also kick him in the jaw, which he entirely anticipated should he put the moves on this wicked vixen.
“Not going to happen,” he muttered, as he watched her approach the mortal pair who, hand in hand, searched for their car. They chatted with Lyric. She pointed over her shoulder at him. Vail offered a nod, hiding his disgust. The woman, a redhead sporting a nose ring and a bare midriff, smiled drunkenly.
He suspected Lyric had done this before. Not getting two mortals to succumb to a vampire foursome, but rather, lying to achieve a goal. She was lying to him about the fence. Had to be. But he could play her game. He must if he was ever to get the answers he needed.
The trio approached, the man’s arm around his girlfriend’s waist, and the other arm draped across Lyric’s shoulders.
“Nice,” Vail said to them as they walked by, leading him toward the end of the parking lot where the streetlight flickered and a dented black van sat parked in the corner.
