Blood Cross (Jane Yellowrock #2)

Scent-marking me

Molly opened the door before the knock sounded and let Bruiser inside with a murmured "George. Come in." His scent, clean and crisp and slightly citrusy, blew in on the night breeze.

The last time Bruiser had picked me up for a party, I didn't have an audience. I looked down at myself, all gussied up, and discomfort shot through me like an electric pulse. I flushed and took a breath to force the embarrassment back down. There was no place for blood flushes where I was going. Or for sexual arousal either. Standing in the shadows, I breathed deeply, getting myself under control. My fingers rested on the thigh strap and I felt a measure of assurance return. One slender vamp-killer, one silvered knife, one cross, and stakes. The uneasiness blew out on a breath and I turned to the door.

Bruiser was in a tux. I had seen him in a tux before, but hadn't taken the time to really study him. The suit was fitted to him, tailored to his form and cupping the curve of his butt like two smooth, happy hands. The coat sat on his broad shoulders and wisped down his chest as if it loved to touch him and couldn't let go. The blood-servant of Leo Pellissier looked like sex on a stick. Something low down in my belly tightened and heated.

Bruiser offered a cordial, businesslike hello to Rick, masking any curiosity he might be feeling. He spotted me in the doorway. It was too dark for a human to see me, but he did. His eyes followed the dress from the floor to my breasts and on to my face. "Jane Yellowrock. You look lovely."

I stepped into the front room and couldn't think what to do with my hands. So I just stood there, fighting a blush, as the two men stared at me. Molly handed me a tiny black purse on a short, looped cord and said, "From the dressmaker. Your ID and a hundred dollars are inside. Try to be home before you turn into a pumpkin."

"Miss Jane," Bruiser said, holding the door for me. I stepped out into the humid night and into the chilled, leather-seated limo.

The slightly stretched Lincoln could hold six passengers on two bench seats, but just as the last time Bruiser took me to a vamp party, there were only the two of us, the privacy partition up between the driver and the back. He slid in beside me and sat close, his thigh touching mine.

The car pulled from the curb and into the dark streets, its armoring making it ride low and heavy, like a highly polished tank. I wondered if there were weapons in the body of the vehicle, like a James Bond or Batman car, but didn't think I'd get a straight answer if I asked. Behind the limo, I heard Rick's Kow-bike start up, and knew he was leaving.

I glanced back just in time to see him speed away, and the wards' formidable bluish sparkle encase the house.

We moved through the blacker-than-usual night and the unlit city. The last time I was escorted to a soiree, George played tour guide, pointing out landmarks and offering bits of history. This time, he settled back at an angle, arms bent at the elbows, hands laced across his stomach, and studied me, paying close attention to the slit in the dress and the wedge of leg I had left peeking out from thigh to toes. When he had taken in the long length of leg, he lifted his eyes to my cleavage and the gold necklace there. Not that I thought he was looking at the nugget. I didn't have a lot of cleavage, but what I had was nicely plumped by the dress.

He stared. I lifted my brows at his blatant regard, and though he didn't lift his eyes, a smile twitched across his face and was gone. He dropped his eyes back down. "You have stupendous legs," he said.

"And you have a great-looking butt." The words were out of my mouth before I could think them through and I bit down on anything else that might come out.Careful , I thought. Beast panted with amusement and kneaded my mind with her claws, pad-pricking back and forth from paw to paw. It was sharply painful, which was her intent.

Bruiser chuckled and finally met my eyes. "You're a walking advertisement as a blood donor," he said baldly. "Every male vamp and half the female ones will want a sample taste."

Beast went still.Beast is not prey. I narrowed my eyes but Bruiser went on.

"I can protect you as long as you're with me, but if you wander off on your own, all bets are off. It's not too late to change your mind." I didn't reply. He sighed softly. "Of course, there are other methods we can employ to assure your safety."

"Methods?"

Bruiser unfolded his hands and reached into his breast coat pocket. He removed a bit of white cloth and extended it to me. My nostrils flared.Vamp! Beast warned, recoiling.

The scent wafted out of the cloth, the peppery smell of fresh vamp blood. I drew in the air through my parted lips. It was the particular blood scent of Leo mixed with the personal scent of Bruiser. I put two and two together and scowled. "What? He offered you a taste tonight and you spat it into a hankie? How sweet of you. Sloppy seconds from a blood feeding."

Bruiser sighed. "It'll keep you safe."

"And it'll mark me as his. And yours. No, thanks."

Bruiser sighed again and set the hankie close to his side, on the leather. And launched across the seat. At me. Over me. His body on top of mine. I slid down, landing hard.

I had a weird, time-warped moment to think,He's attacking. He's going to mark me whether I like it or not.

Beast hissed. Time slowed further, to the consistency of melting wax.

He landed on me, hands on the limo floor to either side of my head. His mouth inches away. One thigh between mine. Intimate, close, his flesh searing against me. Flashing like brown flame, his eyes captured mine. I could smell his anger.

And something changed, charging the air between us. Fury became desire. And I was pinned. For a long moment, he did nothing. Then his mouth landed on mine. And time halted.

I sucked in a stunned breath, pulling it from his lungs. Hot mouth, lips punishing. He gripped the back of my neck. Holding me still. Holding me close.

Beast took over. Wrapped my hands behind his neck and kissed him back.Good mate.

Strong. Fast.

Bruiser's tongue raked my lips. Heat flamed through me, scorching, burning, my skin on fire. Breasts tightened into hard buds. I opened my mouth, positioned more firmly against his. Arched up at him. Heard my moan and was helpless against it. Wrapped my arms around him. Clasped him to me. Nails digging into the jacket. He shifted his hips into me, tight into my center, hard and ready. Swollen with need.

He rested his weight on an elbow and slid a hand into the fabric of my dress. Cupped a breast and teased my nipple into a tight hard peak.

"Yes," I whispered. "Now." Need drenched me. I lifted my hips toward him.

He shoved the dress strap to the side, freeing my right breast. Twirled his tongue around the nipple. Cupped the aching tip into his mouth and sucked so hard I nearly screamed.

His free hand slid down my body and along my thigh. And stopped at the knife hilt. He froze, his body so still he could have been a vamp. He eased away. Met my eyes, pushed the skirt aside, and took the knife hilt. Pulled it from its sheath with a smooth, tight shush of sound.

Our breathing was rough, unsteady, needy. I held his eyes. Thoughts raced through his, too fast to read.

He was holding the knife over me. Pointed at my neck. So close to my carotid I wouldn't have time to react should he decide to bring it down. Beast, however, wasn't concerned. She watched Bruiser through my eyes. Despite the scent of vamp he carried, she liked what she saw.

Bruiser reversed the knife and set it on the leather seat. When he brought his hand down again, it held a bit of white. Before I could react, he wiped the blood scent along my neck and down across my exposed breast.

Scent-marking me. With the smell of a different mate. I hissed again. Caught his hand.

But it was too late. I could see the angry amusement glinting in his eyes. "Son of a bitch," I whispered fiercely, holding the offending cloth off me.

He chuckled softly but there was no humor in it. The sound was cold and rigid and full of self-mockery. "Actually, Mama was an impoverished English lady." He tossed the cloth and slowly pushed up from the floor to the seat, accidentally - or maybe not so accidentally - dragging himself against my center, a cruel reminder of what had just nearly happened. He held out a hand to lift me back to the seat.

I fought embarrassment and a need to refuse the gesture. It would have been childish and would only make things worse. I slid my dress back over my breast and took his hand, allowing him to lift me back to the seat, leather cold through my dress. I smoothed the skirt into place over my legs.

Bruiser took the blade and held out his other hand, patient but demanding. I flipped back the skirt again and undid the knife sheath. He stared at my legs and the shadowed V above them, his eyes like a heated caress from ankles to the top of the dress split, only inches from where he had been planning to go. And where I had been planning to let him go. I shifted, dragging the skirt open wider. Okay, it was mean, but Beast wasn't happy at being thwarted or declawed. And neither was I. I placed the sheath in his hand.

"Any other weapons?" he asked, desire making his voice rough.

His question made me want to raise a hand to my hair and the hidden implements there, but that would have been stupid. "Yeah," I said. "Killer legs."

Bruiser met my eyes. Unexpectedly he grinned and the fight went out of him. He leaned across, slid an arm behind me, and pulled me close, one hand finding my inner thigh. I rested both hands on his shoulders, lips parted. Holding my gaze, he slid his hand up along my leg until the tip of his finger touched the body smoother. "Damn," he whispered.

I stuttered a laugh and he kissed me thoroughly. And I responded, not sure where this was going now, but pretty sure it wasn't heading to any kind of sexual satisfaction. I was right. But when he pulled away, it was with obvious reluctance. His thumb feathered over my sensitive flesh and I fought a shiver. "Killer legs, eh? You do indeed." He skimmed his hand down my leg and back up, to pause just out of reach of any kind of satisfaction. "When this is over, I'm taking you to my place and keeping you there for a week."

I flushed hotly and Beast purred happily deep inside me. I wasn't sure what "this" was, but I nodded and said, "Two."

His eyes went hot and dark. His voice dropped to a burr. "Two."

I sat, his hand on my thigh, and tried to figure out what to do next. The silence stretched, and I was pretty sure he was waiting for me say something else. Desperate, choosing a subject at random, I said, "Why did Madame Melisende lose her clientele?"

One side of Bruiser's mouth quirked and he eased me away. I wasn't sure the extra space made me happy, but I wasn't sure it made me unhappy either. "Melisende picked the wrong party in the last vampire war, and her more wealthy clients went elsewhere."

My instincts perked up. Leo's scions had mentioned war, as had the list of anomalies.

"Vampire war?" I was suddenly aware that the limo was icy cold from the AC and my skin pebbled. I pulled my dress over my legs.

Bruiser glanced away from me and outside the limo. "We're almost there. No time for a history lesson." He looked at a brass - or maybe gold - bucket attached to the limo wall, filled with ice and an open bottle of champagne. Glasses were in holders to the side. I hadn't noticed it until now. "No time for champagne either, not with the time we spent .

. . frolicking."

"Why did you agree to take me to this party? I figured I'd have to break your arm."

"Twist my arm?"

"No." I smiled and looked at him under my lashes. "Break. Definitely break."

Bruiser laughed but his face quickly reset itself into serious lines. "My master has a favor to ask of the Rogue Hunter."

"Crap." I dragged out the word, not liking the sound of this at all. "A favor? Last time I checked, the only thing he wanted was for me to get the hell out of town, under threat of a death by slow roasting or getting turned. Has something changed?"

"Yes. Well. There have been rumors of a realignment in the clans. Such a realignment is what began the last vampire war. Leo is asking - I am asking - for your help to stop it.

Please."

I laughed once, a harsh bark of sound. "Leo came to burn me out, to burn me alive."

Bruiser flinched slightly. "And now he wants me to help solidify Clan Pellissier's power base? You gotta be kidding."

"Leo is not the most dangerous creature in this city." His voice was low and certain, the tone of a man who has seen and survived too much. "It is his power that has kept the peace for so long, between beings that have few morals, and often no compunction about killing humans. He is simply not himself, lost in his grief." Bruiser's face went intense, his eyes holding mine. "I know that solving the internal conflicts between Mithran clans isn't within the parameters of your contract, but keeping humans alive is.

And if there is war, it won't be contained to the vampires."

I pursed my lips, not looking at him. "I lived through the last war in 1915. It was bloody horrific," he said softly. "The violence was as undercover as they could keep it, but believe me, if you'd known where to look . . ."

I blinked. Blood-servants lived a long time, but it was still a shocker whenever I heard confirmation of that.Nineteen fifteen. Criminy. But still . . . I drew down my brows and crossed my arms, knowing it made me look defensive. I so did not want to help Leo Pellissier. Not in any way. "I did not kill Leo's son," I said, hearing the mulish tone in my voice. "I killed his son's killer. His son had been dead for decades."

"I accept that. Leo will eventually accept it as truth. Until then I'll . . . do what I can to keep him away from you. Will you help? For the city's safety?"

I shook my head, but it wasn't a no, it was frustration. "What do you want me to do?"

"Simply listen at the party, and if you hear anything unusual, tell me." That wry smile twisted his features again, this time seeming contrite. "Because of Leo's scent, you'll be free and safe to go anywhere you wish." I glared at him and he had the grace to grin in apology, which transformed his face, making him look younger. "And because you aren't me, and because you smell like dessert underneath Leo's scent, they may speak freely. You might hear something that could avert this war." When I didn't reply, he insisted, "If there is war, humans, many humans, will die."

Crap.He played the human card. I sighed. "Yeah, sure. If I hear anything, I'll share.

Why not?" I glared at Bruiser. "But you keep that blood-sucking vamp away from my house."

"Katie's house," Bruiser said softly.

I blew out a breath. "Well, that put me in my place, didn't it?"

The Warehouse District was just what it sounded like, the place where, once upon a time, boat captains off-loaded merchandise and took on fresh wares for the next port, and where masters of industry and commerce stored it, sold it, and made their fortunes.

But the formerly utilitarian buildings had been redone into artsy and expensive apartments, lofts, restaurants, and galleries.

The street in front of the Old Nunnery was packed on both sides with parked cars, each with a driver waiting inside, in the dark, or standing beside it, watching the night. Each man had the look of ex-military, wore an earpiece, and had well-toned and deadly brawn. I was betting they wore enough weapons to start Bruiser's war too. We pulled through the narrow roadway between the vehicles and up to the old building.

I leaned toward the blackened limo window and stared. The Nunnery was a three-story, old-brick warehouse with Spanish-style windows, a wraparound porch on the bottom floor with wide-arched openings big enough to drive a wagon and draft horses through.

Wrought iron protected the porch above it on the second floor, and sculpted grounds were planted with magnolias, palms, blooming flowers and shrubs, and heavy-limbed live oaks old enough to have seen Jean Lafitte himself saunter through. The entire property was ablaze with light that flickered like real flame through the warehouse windows; the images within seemed to waver, blown glass giving a surreal aspect to it.

The grounds and building were packed full of formally attired and coiffed blood-servants, blood-slaves, and the rich and fangy. It swarmed like a fire-ant mound, deadly to anything that stayed nearby for too long, lethal to an enemy. And just by walking in, I was getting ready to stir it with a metaphorical stick. My palms started to sweat. "This doesn't look like a convent."

"The Nunnery is named after Samuel Nunnery, a businessman and ship owner from the seventeen hundreds. This was one of his warehouses."

The car pulled to a stop at the apex of a circular drive and Bruiser lowered the privacy window an inch. "I'll take care of us from here, Simon." The driver, silhouetted by the outside lights through the darkly tinted, bulletproof glass, gave a small two-finger salute. Bruiser helped me out into the muggy air, his hand on mine firm. I used the moment to smooth my hair, retucking the ends of several braids and checking the position of the weapons in them. The wrestling-match-slash-almost-sex on the floor hadn't dislodged anything. He shut the door, placed my hand in the crook of his arm, and started up the walk to the door. He leaned in, placed his lips at my ear, murmuring,

"Play nice."

I adjusted my little purse on its extra-long strap and let one corner of my mouth curl up.

"I'd like to keep my skin intact and my blood in my veins. I promise not to do anything really stupid."

"I promise to do nothing stupid," he corrected, a glint in his eye.

"Bully for you." He chuckled as we took five steps up to the massive front door, and I added, "Good English and grammar are easy for old geezers." He harrumphed, adjusted his jacket, and squeezed my arm. Glancing down, I was happy to see that neither his tux nor my dress was overly wrinkled, despite the tussle on the floor.

I also spotted long, narrow, horizontal windows below the entry porch, running along the length of the building, behind low shrubbery - windows dark but clean. Each had bars over it. This building was one of a very few in this part of the world with a basement or root cellar. Or maybe coal cellar. Maybe dungeon. With the high water table, most such depressions filled in with water and contributed to black mold. If the space was well kept and dry, then it was likely witch-spelled to keep out water.

Witches and vamps. Working together. It wasn't supposed to happen. The two species were supposed to hate each other. My nosy instincts went into overdrive. Why did a huge warehouse need a basement? Had it once been a holding cell for contraband? Or far worse, imported slaves?

Inside the door, cold, dry air flooded from overhead vents. And the smell of vamp hit me like a closed fist.Son of a sea lion , there must be hundreds of them here. I closed down around myself fast, erecting barriers in my mind, barriers that Molly was helping me to strengthen, using meditation techniques. It was working, but not as well as she wanted. The vamp stink was potent, aggressive, as if they had been fighting among themselves, and it made my hackles rise. Beast peeled back her lips and showed me her teeth, hissing softly; I held her off with a mental command. Beast didn't like walking onto another predator's territory. She also didn't like it when I barricaded her off, so she sat back, allowing me the alpha position. For now.

Bruiser paused and removed two white envelopes from his jacket pocket, handing them to a security type, a tuxedoed guy with an ear wire and a tiny mouthpiece, a significant bulge beneath one arm. But he wasn't muscled and burly; he was slight, black, and had very hard, very cold eyes. He studied, memorized, categorized, and set me aside as unimportant. I could have been insulted, but being discounted might keep me safe.

"George Dumas and guest," Security Dude said, checking off the name on a clipboard.

George nodded and said, "Jane Yellowrock, Rogue Hunter." I saw the man's eyes flick my way, and I was pretty sure I was being recategorized from date to dangerous. I sighed. I'd have security watching me all evening.

"Armed?" SD asked.

"She was," Bruiser drawled, giving the impression that he had declawed me himself.

Which he had, actually. I frowned. SD glanced back at me and nodded as if amused at the little lady. I narrowed my eyes at Bruiser and moved inside, into a reception line.