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I frowned. Where was he taking this, and why? And why now?
He leaned down so his words were a bare whisper. “Can’t you feel the sparks between us? I don’t want to deny my attraction for you anymore. And before you bring up Nerissa, I know she’s your lover. I’m not looking to supplant her. I’ll never be good for anyone that way again. Not as a one-and-only, not as a husband. Not even as a steady beau. If that were the case, I’d still be with Fraale, and you saw just how well that worked out.”
Fraale was his ex-wife. Centuries ago, the gods played havoc with their lives, turning them into a succubus and an incubus. It tore apart their relationship, and while they still loved each other, Rozurial knew it was hopeless, while Fraale still kept her torch burning.
“I know.” I deliberately let out a sigh. The situation just seemed to call for it. “And I’m sorry. You two . . . you belong together—”
“No, not now.” He shook his head. “Not ever again. We’ve been through too much. With me out of the picture, she doesn’t have to deal with the constant reminder of what we used to have. Of who I used to be. Of who she used to be. Much better to just leave the past in the past. You, of all people, should know that.” He stepped closer, so we were bare inches apart.
I knew exactly what he was talking about. Before I’d been turned into a vampire, my own past had been hopeful, a life ahead of me that didn’t include demons or walking among the dead or drinking blood.
But there was no going back. Even if by some miracle Roz or I happened to revert to our former states, we’d still carry the memories of what made us who we were in the present. We could never return to simpler times. The past was dead, and better it stay that way.
“I know. Trust me, I do know.” I let my gaze linger on his and found myself wanting to reach up, to kiss him.
What would be the harm? Who would we hurt? Camille and Delilah weren’t interested in Rozurial as a lover. Nerissa and I agreed to be exclusive in gender, not as lovers per se. Jareth—the only other man I’d touched since before Dredge—was back in Otherworld, in Aladril, the City of Seers. And sex with him had been more of a thank-you than anything else.
So why was I hesitating? Was I afraid I’d get hooked on the incubus? We’d kissed before, true, but it had been playful, almost buddy-buddy-like. This time, I knew it would be for real.
I listened to the clock tick away the seconds, then made my decision. I let myself hover a few inches off the ground and leaned in.
A shock wave ricocheted through me as he gathered me into his arms, his tongue seeking entrance. Every nerve in my body flared, burned by the wave of pure sex that emanated from his touch. The fire sparked off my own ravenous hunger to fuck, to feed, to drink deeply.
Rozurial’s eyes deepened, the violent brown turning jet black as he held me. His hands weren’t moving, and yet it felt like he was touching every inch of my body. As the kiss deepened, I fell—dark and wild—into the passion that swelled from his aura to encompass me.
Tumbling so deeply, I realized that this was why men feared incubi. One kiss, and their women would race off, following the holy grail of sex that promised to leave them exhausted and drained and satisfied in a way they’d never before managed to reach. Was this what Trillian had done to Camille? Was the Svartan charm as powerful as the kiss of an incubus? If so, I knew why my sister would never, ever walk away from him again.
And then Roz let go and gently pushed me back. He looked triumphant and delighted and thoroughly ready for more. But all he said was, “You have work to do before the dawn. This is just the start, my Menolly. You and I have an appointment to keep. We’re both demons, creatures of the night, creatures of the blood. You drink it, and I stir it. Together, we’ll rock the world.”
With that, he pushed me out the door, and I heard him arm the security system. My stomach fluttered. Thirst parching my throat, I stood there, staring at the door, thinking I’d just opened my very own Pandora’s box.
CHAPTER 15
The streets were dry and dark. A warm front was drifting through, keeping the smog low and thick. The wind remained silent, and there was nothing to blow away the taste of exhaust and grit that filtered through the air.
I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for, but Chase’s words had stuck in the back of my mind. They’d found the latest body near Harold Young’s house, and Harold Young had been stalking Sabele.
One thing was for sure: Harold lived in a pricey neighborhood. When I was a block from his house, I slid out of Camille’s Lexus, locked it, and headed out on foot. The sidewalks were empty, and most of the house lights were off. I might as well be a ghost or a character in some slumbering dream. As I silently passed through the maple-lined streets, keeping to the shadows, the soft whisper of leaves brushed against my shoulders, the only sign that I’d been there.
Reading the house numbers was problematic, especially with the Moon setting, but it took me mere seconds to glance at the mailboxes, and when I reached two houses away, I slowed.
Harold lived in one hell of a big house, but it wasn’t as tidy as its neighbors, and several cars and a van lined the driveway that extended off the street toward the back of the house. I found the mailbox by the side of the road and glanced at the names, using a penlight to guide me. Harold Young, all right, along with a half-dozen other men’s names. So Harold had roommates.
Slipping up on the lawn, I ducked behind one of the large fir trees that filled the double-wide lot. The house was three stories, and I noticed a light on in one of the upper floors. Hmm, somebody was awake, and I wanted to know who.
There wasn’t a tree close enough to the window to climb. I could do the hover thing and probably remain unnoticed, but I decided to try my ability to turn into a bat. I wasn’t proud of my skill. Some vampires mastered it, some never managed to get the hang of it, and some—like me—were fairly weak but could get ourselves aloft for a time. If there’d been a wind, I wouldn’t have even bothered. Wind and me as a bat do not mix.
Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on the shift. Unlike Delilah’s Were abilities, this wasn’t a natural state for me, and it didn’t come as easily. But after a moment, holding tightly to the image of a bat in my mind, I felt my body begin to transform. The change always freaked me out. I didn’t like the way it felt. There wasn’t any pain, but it just felt wrong and vulnerable.
A moment later I hovered in the air. Menolly the vampire, all right. Vampire bat. Stifling my impatience, I concentrated on winging my way up to the third-story window. I managed to ascend to the roof just outside the window. It was a steep incline, with a small overhang of eaves that dropped off to the ground below. As I held myself steady in front of the window, I peered in.
The room was lit, all right, but I was having trouble seeing. Bats certainly weren’t blind, contrary to popular opinion, but I had better vision in my normal form. Frustrated, I landed gently on the roof, making certain I was at a place where I wouldn’t go tumbling off, and gratefully let go of my winged form. Somehow, I didn’t see flight as a regular activity in my future.
Once I’d shifted back, I reassured myself I was all in one piece, then flattened myself against the shingles as I peeked inside the room again. Much better. The light gave me a full view, and thankfully, the room was empty at the moment.
From where I was hiding, I could see a single bed—unmade. The sheets looked grungy. Dirty clothes littered the floor, along with a few take-out containers and a half-dozen textbooks. There were posters thumbtacked to the walls—mostly fantasy scenes—wizards and castles and Boris Vallejo chicks. I gazed at one of them, my attention caught by her voluptuous breasts and golden skin. She looked a lot like Nerissa, and boy did that make me hornier than hell.
Pulling my attention back to the matter at hand, on the dresser was a mishmash of personal effects: brush, comb, what looked like a razor, wallet, change, and other assorted pocket gear. The desk was covered with books and papers. Frat boy. Had to be. And this was probably a frat house, because no mother in her right mind would let her son keep a room this dirty.
