Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(39)

The black blood that hit his tongue was the tonic he needed and he

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drew with desperation, even as the Texan struggled and then fell still. But the f*cker didn't have to worry. There was nothing sexual in the sucking. It was nutrition, plain and simple.

And the more he swallowed, the more he needed.

Jacking the slayer tight against his chest, he fed like a motherf*cker.

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THIRTEEN


As the sound of the slayer's boot against that gas can faded, Qhuinn moved down and sat on the SOB's legs. The bastard might have gotten one kick in, but he was not getting a second chance.

Outside, the human cops gathered around the shed.

"It's locked," one of them said as the chain rattled.

"I have shell casings over here."

"Wait, there's something inside . . . phew, man, what a stench."

"Whatever it is, it's been dead at least a week. That smell--I'd take even my mother-in-law's tuna casserole over that."

There was a ripple of agreement.

In the darkness, John and Qhuinn locked eyes and waited. The only

solution if the door got popped was to dematerialize and leave the lesser behind; there was no way of moving the weight of the slayer through thin air. But none of these policemen could possibly have the key--so that left shooting their way in as their only option.

And chances were good they'd assume a quick pop just to get into the

shed was not worth the paperwork.

"Only one shooter, according to the nine-one-one call. And he can't be in there."

There was a cough and a curse. "If he is, his nose is falling off from the stank."

"Call the groundskeeper," a deep voice said. "Someone's gotta get that dead animal out of there. Meantime, let's head into the neighborhood."

There was chatter and footsteps. A little later one of the cars drove off.

"We gotta off him," Qhuinn whispered over John's shoulder. "Take that knife and let's do him and get the f*ck out of here."

John shook his head. There was no way he was losing this prize.

"John, we're not leaving with him. Kill him so we can bounce."

Even though Qhuinn couldn't see his lips, John mouthed, Fuck that.

He's mine.

Letting this source of information slide was not going to happen. If

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anything, the human police could be dealt with mentally . . . or physically if it came down to it.

There was the smooth sound of a knife being unsheathed. "Sorry,

John, we're outtie."

No! John yelled over his shoulder soundlessly.

Qhuinn's hand locked on the collar of John's jacket and dragged him

off balance, so it was a case of either letting go of the slayer's neck or snapping the f*cker's head off his spine. Since an incapacitated lesser couldn't talk, John released his hold--and caught himself by planting his palm on the cold cement.

No f*cking way was he going to let his buddy cheat him out of this.

As he lunged at the male, all hell broke loose. He and Qhuinn

wrestled for control over the dagger, knocking into a lot more than a gas can, and the lesser rolled free and sprang for the door. As the cops started hollering, the slayer pounded to get out--

The next sound that made any impression over the din was a gunshot.

The chaser of which was a metallic ringing.

The police had blasted off the Master Lock.

From down on the floor, John whipped his arm around to the small of

his back, and as he pivoted on his knees, he and Qhuinn threw their knives in sync, their blades traveling end over end across the shallow space.

The penetrations were of such force that even though they went into

the slayer's torso between the shoulder blades, clearly one or both hit home: In a flash bright as lightning and with a sonic boom loud enough to make ears bleed, the lesser went back to his maker, leaving nothing but a smoky stink . . . and a hole the size of a refrigerator in the shed door.

With adrenaline running so high, neither he nor Qhuinn could

dematerialize, so they leaped up and back-flatted it on either side of the gaper, staying put as first one gun muzzle then another eased inside.

Forearms were next.

Then profiles and shoulders. And flashlights.

Fortunately, the humans stepped fully inside.

"Psst. Your fly's down." As the cops turned on Qhuinn's smart ass, John unsheathed both his SIGs, and with a quick cross-strike on those heads, CPD's finest were seeing stars and sinking down onto the floor.

Which was precisely when Blay showed up with the Hummer.

John jumped over the policemen and hightailed it down to the SUV

with Qhuinn right behind him, those New Rocks the f*cker insisted on

wearing positively pounding the earth. John gunned his way for the rear door, which Blay had popped, catching the handle and flipping himself 108

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inside as Qhuinn slid into the backseat.

As Blay took off, flooring the engine and blasting out of there, John was glad they'd had to tango with only one set of cops--although sure as shit the other two badges would be back ASAP.

They were heading north toward the highway as John clawed his way