This Side of the Grave (Night Huntress, #5)(55)
“Too much.” My reply was panted at his frantic pace.
“Like hell,” he growled, licking my neck. “You pierced yourself on my fangs and you loved it. I feel your body, and you’re not in pain. Let go, like you did before. Give in.”
He bent me forward, his hands on my hips the only thing supporting me. True to his prior directive, I began to scream at the ceaseless, blistering passion of his body cleaving into mine harder than he ever had before. His grip immobilized me, accented voice muttering rough endearments between groans of his own as the intensity built to a staggering pitch. When it crested to the point of overwhelming me, he leaned down and buried his fangs into my neck, drinking my blood with strong, almost feral pulls of his mouth.
I collapsed onto the mattress, no strength, mindless, my release hitting me in pounding surges. It was so intense that I was only vaguely aware of Bones’s shout before a deep spasm inside told me that he’d joined me in ecstasy. After a few moments that seemed to suspend in time, he fell next to me like someone cut his strings, both of us taking in a few ragged, if sporadic, breaths.
“If I have to beg, you are going to do that again,” Bones finally said in a strained voice. “I can’t feel my bloody legs.”
Neither could I, but speaking was beyond my abilities at the moment. I could hear and think, but only hazily. Even with the lightning-fast regenerative abilities of being a vampire, I still felt twinges of soreness mixed in with the residual tingles from a really explosive orgasm. If I’d been human and Bones took me that hard, I wouldn’t walk for a week. No, wait, make that a month.
“I think this’ll definitely tide me over while we’re apart,” I said, managing to flop over onto my back. And then some, my glazed mind added.
Bones laughed, dragging me into his arms with far more strength and quickness than was fair, considering I still had trouble making my limbs operate.
“Oh, Kitten,” he murmured as his lips dragged down my throat. “You didn’t really think we were done, did you?”
He’ll be the death of me was my thought, but I couldn’t bring myself to utter a word of complaint. Or protest as his mouth slid past my neck and continued on a downward track.
After all, even if I was right, there were far worse things than death—and I couldn’t think of a better way to go, anyway.
Chapter Twenty--two
The plane touched down right as the skies opened and heavy rain pelted the aircraft. Even though I was anxious to get started, a part of me lamented the fact that soon, I’d have to reapply my stinky phantom repellent again. Airport security would have taken issue with me trying to board a flight while covered in weed, and I didn’t think my truthful explanation of “But I have to keep ghosts away!” would go over with them.
I collected my suitcase from the overhead bin—missing my usual weapons cache—and did the wait-stop-wait shuffle out of the plane with the other passengers. Once on the gangway, I could walk freely, and it didn’t take me long to reach the passenger waiting area. A circular glance around didn’t show the face I was looking for, and there was no telltale surge of supernatural energy in the air. Frowning, I glanced at my watch. No, I wasn’t early. In fact, the plane was about fifteen minutes behind schedule. So where was Mencheres?
“Cat, welcome.”
I whirled, blinking for a second at the tall, tawny-haired stranger—and then I laughed.
“God, that’s amazing.”
The slight hint of a smile on Mencheres’s face was familiar, but not much else. His midnight-black hair and eyebrows were now golden blond, his charcoal-colored gaze azure blue, and instead of the normal, expensive-looking slacks and long-sleeved shirts he favored, Mencheres had on an Ed Hardy T-shirt and board shorts.
Most startling to me, however, was his aura. Or lack of one. Aside from his missing heartbeat, I’d almost swear he was human, because almost no preternatural energy stirred the air around us. Considering that being around Mencheres normally felt like flying a metal umbrella in a lightning storm, I was stunned at how thoroughly he’d managed to cloak his power level.
“And here I thought I was good at this cloak-and-dagger stuff,” I went on, a vague gesture encompassing my newly raven hair, brown contacts, and artificially darkened skin courtesy of one of those tan-in-a-bottle creams. I’d even thickened and darkened my eyebrows and dyed the peach fuzz on my arms from golden-red to brown. A vampire had previously identified me because of a hint of red on my armpits, even though I’d shaved that morning. Fool me once and all that.
“I’ve had somewhat more practice than you,” Mencheres replied with dry humor, taking my bag even though I could easily carry it. I didn’t argue. He wasn’t being chauvinistic; he just came from a different era. A very different era, considering the four-and-a-half-millennia gap in our ages.
We walked out of the airport without saying anything else, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves just in case this place was being watched by either Apollyon’s ghouls or ones from the other sect. We couldn’t be too careful, even though Bones had already been out the past three nights with Denise in Ohio. With her ability to shapeshift into an exact replica of me, I doubted anyone except him, Spade, Mencheres, or Kira had any idea that the real Red Reaper was in Memphis instead of hitting the bar and club scene with Bones.