Page 72 of The Firebrand
“Good thinking.”
“She’s your responsibility now. This isn’t my place. I borrowed it from a packmate, but if he finds out, he could be trouble. Give me my money and take her. Housing the human was more than I bargained for.”
“You get plenty for what you do.” Silas growled, snapping fangs at his companion, shutting him up. He glanced down where the female continued her hopeless struggle. At least she showed moxie. The vampire nuzzled her matted hair. Leaning in, he sniffed, flicking his tongue along the side of her neck where her jugular beat twice in rapid succession. He smelled the appealing scent of her fear along with the ripe blackberry and summer moonlight of her blood.
“Silas, you told me no sampling the merchandise. Why do you get to play?”
“Because I set the rules.” When the red haze blurred his vision, he drew back his lips to expose sharp fangs. The female gasped and then passed out. Silas laughed, unrestrained, heartless.
He knew it was a risk, but he’d only taste her. He required just a sip to heal the wounds Rein had inflicted. After taking the small reward for escaping a close call with the Firebrand, he would drop her at Aisen’s stockade. Another unwilling donor would provide dinner.
A pointed tooth skimmed along her vein while he shivered with excitement. A soft pop and he was in, her fluid coating his mouth, soothing his throat. She was exceptional. He fought the urge to bleed her. Though this female might fear him as a monster, his boss was the true fiend, the real bogeyman under the bed. That male would not approve of her death. With a mere flick of his wrist, Silas’s master could squeeze his heart until it stopped pumping, yank his limbs from his body, suck the breath from his lungs.
With caution as his motivation, Silas withdrew his fangs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, licking off the smear of delectable blood.
****
Braelynadmired her reflection in the mirror. If Rein hungered for vampire tart, she was on the menu. A red-flowered bustier plumped her breasts until they swelled over the top. Delicious muffins. Skin-tight black leggings molded to her hips. An appetizer. Ankle-breaking stilettos made her legs look long enough to wrap around his waist for a rough ride. A tasty pretzel.
Sabine, good to her word, brought extra clothes to the gym, conservative ones as requested. Before parting, though, the nymph had winked, telling her to dig to the bottom of the bag.
Oh, mama.
Tonight, the surprise outfit was bait. Braelyn was the trap.
What had Jez said? “Wiggle your ass.” With her eyes cast over her shoulder at the mirror, she shook her backside. “Stick your little boobies in his face.” She arched, pushing out her chest.
The training session over, Sabine dropped Braelyn at the condo. With time on her hands, she weighed her options before deciding to return home tomorrow. There, she’d report to Dr. Joe to begin treatment. While in a lab chair with poison pumping through her veins, she’d read magazines about daredevil mountain climbers, celebrity lovers, and world travelers. Later in her apartment, she’d hug the toilet bowl, barfing for sport and giggles while her hair fell out in clumps.
What she wouldn’t do was get a thrill from her own adventures touring another realm with a gorgeous vampire mix. Rein was the symbol for everything she was about to lose.
So here she was, posturing in front of a mirror in a harlot’s getup while she plotted to seduce him. After that adventure, she’d set off for Seattle to win a different battle.
Whenever she felt sorry for herself in the days, weeks, or months ahead, she’d tap into the memories of unforgettable sex with a dangerous man who made her heart beat double time. She’d sigh, recalling how he had belonged to her for one amazing night.
Let others have photo albums of life’s long journey—a wedding, children, growing old together. Her pictures would be vivid images of a sexy but snarly vampire. What she couldn’t have in quantity, she’d make up for in quality.
Braelyn slapped a palm over her mouth, giggling at a thought. A lot was riding on Rein’s dick. And she was dressed for the ride.
Prepped for seduction, she found a bottle of Demon Scourge, pouring herself a medium-size tumbler of courage. Braelyn paced the room, wringing her hands, wondering when he’d show. Because stilettos were hard on ankles, she sipped whiskey and kicked off the heels to watch CNN news. After catching up on mayhem, crime, and the weather, she wandered into the library, joint-killers in hand, her gaze falling on abook that piqued her interest.The Path: Words of the Warrior Ohngel.She pulled the tome from the shelf, opening to an introduction. From AD 503-671, the Cambion had transcribed the book. Later, it was translated into English. She thumbed through the pages before returning to the preface.
With a foot curled under her, Braelyn sank onto the couch to read.
Weary from a lengthy truth-seeking journey, I, the Cambion from Wales, rested beside a late evening fire after finishing a meager repast. A nightchat flew from the trees, singing. The warbler-like bird trilled, chirped, and whistled, its raspy notes a message from Ohngel, the fire-winged assassin of the OneCreator, the male I would deem prophet and friend in the coming years.
Oft thereafter, Ohngel or the prophet-warrior’s emissary, the nightchat, emerged from the thickets to tell a tale of hope, courage, caution, or enlightenment for the Aeternals placed upon this world by the Genitrix Gahya.
In time, my guide and mentor revealed the Prophecy of Karma and set me upon a quest to save humans and my kind. I sought the Blood Coven, those witches and warlocks who would join me to create the realms of Scath and Darque, part of Earth yet cut off from the whole. I recorded that journey, culminating with the Karmic Schism of AD 452, here in Volume I: The Salvation.
The front door creaked open and snicked shut. Footsteps. Rein dropped his bag onto the floor.Thunk. His weapons hit the table.Clank. The fabric of his shirt whispered across his skin when he removed it.
Braelyn peeked over the top of the book. She listened. Water swooshed in the shower. Instead of searching for her, Rein had gone to wash up.
Chugging the rest of her drink, she closed the book, stood up, combed fingers through her hair, and cupped her breasts, jostling them higher. Her re-stilettoed feet carried her into the bathroom, where Rein was in the shower facing away from the door. His neck tilted backward, his face angled up, hot water streamed down his body. Clouds of moist air steamed up the room. Braelyn bit her lip as she admired packed layers of bunching muscle, a trim waist, narrow hips, sculpted thighs, and a spectacular tight ass. She posed near the fogged glass, her thumb and forefinger ready to work on her bustier.
Rein turned toward her and used his large hand like a windshield wiper. Soap in the other, he froze.
With the zipper midway, Braelyn stopped.A reddened jagged scar marked his upper chest.“What happened to you? Are you okay?”
