One Grave at a Time (Night Huntress #6)(24)

But if I told him to feed first, his own lust would build while he was forced to wait and seek out a nice vein to secretly suck on. By the time he came back, he’d be almost ruthless in his passion—and Bones in a primal state was truly something to experience.

At that thought, heat swept through my body like the water had suddenly turned into flames. I licked my lips and cleared my throat, but my voice still came out as a gravelly purr.

“Go now.” So all that lovely lust can build until it rips away your control.

Bolts of power unleashed from his aura, filling the air to land on my skin like velvet-lined whips. His mouth opened, fangs dragging across his lower lip until they drew glittering drops of blood. My gaze latched there, and it was all I could do to keep from charging out of the tub to catch those drops before they rolled off his lip.

“Are you sure?”

Merciless tease! Drinking Bones’s blood while he was inside me was the most incredible thing ever—and he knew it. A creaking noise warned me that I gripped the edge of the tub so hard, it was about to shatter under my hand.

“Go.” No purr, all growl now. Bones wouldn’t be the only one burning with unrequited desire until he got back.

I vowed erotic retribution for the knowing smile he gave me before he disappeared from the doorframe. A soft click was our hotel room door shutting behind him moments later. I leaned back, blowing out a sigh of sheer willpower. I would not call out for him to come back even though I knew he’d be lingering close by to see if I did. I’d show him that I could tease him with the same sensual resolve that he’d so often shown me.

And my reward for patience now would be a lover who was single-minded in his domination of my body later. More tremors of anticipation rippled through me. I smoothed my hands over my nipples and down my thighs, tempted to reach lower and release a little of that simmering tension before he got back, but decided not to. Some things were worth the wait, and Bones was definitely one of those things.

I’d drained the tub and was busy rinsing conditioner from my hair when my cat let out an extended yowl that was loud enough to be heard over the shower. In the next room, Dexter barked sharply, ending on a piercing whine. I tensed. Helsing might be temperamental for no reason, but I’d only heard the dog bark that way when—

Something slammed against the back of my head with enough force to send my face crashing into the wall in front of me. I spun around, blinking to get the tiny tile shards out of my eyes thanks to the new head-sized hole in the wall, but even though I couldn’t see, I knew who’d attacked me. Kramer. How had the ghost managed to sneak up on me without any of my inner warning bells going off?

“Hexe,” the heavily accented voice of the Inquisitor hissed.

I ripped the iron shower rod off the wall, whipping it like a sword toward the source of that voice before realizing the futility in the gesture.

“Oh, if you had flesh, I’d beat the ass off you!” I swore, throwing the rod aside.

My vision cleared enough for me to see the tunic-clad figure about six feet away. The exposed cistern and chunks of ruined ceramic at my feet showed that Kramer had used the toilet tank lid to bash the back of my head. Fucker had slid that off quiet as a mouse, hadn’t he? I braced to dodge whatever other bathroom items he might try to bludgeon me with next, but after a disgusted moment, I saw that Kramer’s attention was focused on the apex of my wide-legged fighter’s stance.

A towel was within reach, but I fought my urge to snatch it up because one, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acting ashamed, and two, my cold-blooded practicality recognized that distraction was a weapon.

Luckily, it wasn’t the only weapon I had.

I shoved my hand into the hole my face had formed in the wall, bloodying it on the ragged tile edges. “Sic him and don’t let him leave,” I snarled, willing forth the Remnants with all the energy I had.

Kramer’s eyes widened right before he rapidly began to fade. But aside from the cool blast of air I felt, covering my skin with gooseflesh from head to toe, nothing else happened.

“I said, sic him!” I repeated, slicing my hand so hard that the tile crumpled beneath my force.

Nothing. The only thing filling the room was my growing alarm. What was the problem? I had blood running down my fingers, my skin felt as though it crawled with icy ants, and I wanted the Remnants here like damn, but my fiendishly lethal, wrath-of-the-grave buddies were nowhere to be seen.

Kramer must have heard or sensed that I wasn’t able to summon help, because he rematerialized into such clarity that I could see the white stubble on his chin and the different places where his tunic was rent from age. But despite cutting my hand repeatedly and concentrating hard enough to make my jaw grind, he was still the only apparition in the bathroom.





Eleven



The worst feeling of déjà vu washed over me. I’d counted on borrowed abilities once before in a fight only to discover they were no longer in working order. I should’ve never made that same mistake again. Fool me twice, shame on me!

The Inquisitor bared his teeth in something too cruel to be called a smile. “You see? God strikes down your powers of witchcraft in my defense!”

“Boy, are you wrong about who’s got your back,” I spat, trying to regroup. Okay, so I could no longer summon Remnants to my aid, but there must be something I could do aside from cringe and duck.