Page 138 of The Shade of Things
His eyes flared hot and bright then he tackled me, his kiss rough and possessive as he thrust inside me. He pinned my hands over my head with one of his, using the other on my clit as he fucked me.
I wrapped my legs around his back, wanting him deeper.
“Mitzi?”
Now it was my turn to look at him in question.
He pressed his hand against his heart. “Thank you for saying yes.”
“Fuck.” I shuddered, a second orgasm tearing through me right before he convulsed with a groan and collapsed next to me. “You better take me on a hell of a date to top that,” I said.
“Now you’re giving me performance anxiety.” He got up and went into the bathroom to dispose of the condom.
“Yeah. That ego of yours is so fragile.”
“Good.” He dropped back down beside me. “You understand that I must be handled with great care. Will you stay the night?”
I mean, my own bed was cold and so far away. “That would be nice.”
He settled us both under the covers, wrapping me in his arms, and kissed the top of my head. “Bonne nuit.”
“Sweet dreams.”
I hadn’t shared a bed with anyone in quite some time, and I wasn’t sure how I’d negotiate space and temperature. Laurent followed me like a heat-seeking missile all night, crowded against me, and threw off heat like a furnace. I, in turn, spent the night sticking my feet in and out of the blankets and stuffing them against his legs when I got too cold. The first time I did that, he woke up enough to mutter something under his breath in annoyed French, then hauled me against him, spooning me.
It was kind of great and got even better when he woke me with a latte in bed the next morning.
I took the mug from him and slapped his butt. “Thanks, cabana boy.”
“You don’t even name me? I’m the Red Shirt of your sexual servicing?”
“You’re such a nerd.” I kissed him.
“Better,” he said when we came up for air.
After he fed me fat, fluffy blueberry pancakes with proper Canadian maple syrup, I headed over to Blood Alley even though it wasn’t yet noon. Either the vamps or the human minions might have intel on why Zev had brought the estrie here.
I spent most of my time inside the club at the top of the property, eavesdropping on employees. I skulked around for a few hours without learning anything, but as I was leaving Rome, I smelled smoke. Still cloaked, I headed around back.
A solid fence had been erected around a small area with a single locked gate. It was too high to see over but smoke and ash rose from the crackling fire I heard beyond it.
A sign on the gate read “Keep Out!”
Extremely curious, I summoned Delilah. She jumped to the top of the fence, crouching silently, and I gasped.
Rodrigo, wearing thick gardening gloves and a face mask, pitched a vamp’s corpse into the flames. The desiccated body reminded me of a mouse I’d found inside my garage wall once, just a pruney husk. Another vampire corpse lay at his feet but was soon added to the fire with the first one.
Other than their shriveled state, the bodies had looked uninjured. What had killed them and why burn them under secretive conditions?
Rodrigo waited until the flames were thoroughly extinguished, then raked over the ashes, and poured several bottles of bleach over top.
Bleach. Why would you need bleach for dead vampires? I’d killed plenty and I’d never—
I stopped. Zev had not been himself for the last couple weeks.
Bleach. The acrid scent cut into my nostrils. For a vampire contagion?
Admittedly my vampire siring knowledge was Buffy-based, but could a single estrie provide enough transfusions to stop an undead pandemic?
