His Lover's Fangs Read online

  His Lover’s Fangs

  By Kallysten

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2010 Kallysten

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First Published September 2010

  First Edition

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Mary S.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  His Lover’s Fangs

  The gravel crunched beneath Olivia’s boots, the sound so familiar she had never paid it any mind—not until that moment. Damn, but it was loud. The sound rose in the night air, a clear warning to anyone who was listening that she was approaching the back of the house. She remembered hours of working in the sun with Logan to create this path, just days after they’d bought the house. She remembered how hot it had been and how the sun had played over his golden skin until she had needed to touch him. Ludicrous. How much time and energy had she devoted to this stupid path? As for the sun being enjoyable…

  A curtain of evergreen trees lined the back of the property, giving privacy not only to the backyard but also to the master bedroom. She snickered. Curtains hung on either side of the French windows, but as usual, Logan had forgotten to draw them. Perfect. She had lectured him about it dozens of times, warning him that an intruder might take the open window as an invitation. I’m a big boy. I can defend myself, he always answered, laughing. They would quickly see how well that worked for him this time.

  As soon as she turned the corner of the house, she knew the window was open. She could hear water running inside from the master bath as clearly as if she had been in there. Silly man. Stepping more lightly than ever, she continued to advance, keeping to the shadows. A gust of wind swept by her, cool, carrying the scent of the evergreens. She’d never noticed it before.

  In three more steps, she reached the window. She gave up on the pretense of hiding and stood just beyond the open glass door, looking in. The bedroom was as she had left it—had it been only five nights? It felt like much longer. An entire lifetime. It was crazy how much things could change in five short nights.

  Clothes were strewn across the floor, waiting to be thrown into the laundry basket. On the wall, the crossbow seemed as out of place as it ever had, but the sense of comfort and security it had once given Olivia was gone. She scowled at the weapon. Had Logan used this one to kill Ann?

  Shaking the thought off, she continued to observe the room. The bed was unmade, heavy cotton sheets rumpled and askew.

  A flash of memory coursed through Olivia like a bolt of lightning, and for a second, just a second, she was back to five nights earlier, kneeling on those same sheets, Logan’s hands tightly clutching her hips as she thrust herself down onto his cock, over and over and—

  Unconsciously, she took a deep breath to clear her mind. Bad idea. It didn’t help, far from it, and she could feel her panties growing wet from excitement. Even though five nights had passed, the scent of sex was still there. She doubted Logan could have noticed it, but to her, to what she now was, the scent was there, oh, yes, heavy and musky, the scent of his sweet come filling her, of their shared pleasure before they had gone out to hunt. Her Sire had told her she smelled good, before the bite, before the blood. Olivia hadn’t understood then. She did now.

  Movement caught her eye through the open bathroom door. Her sudden smile bared her fangs. Jackpot. Logan was standing in the shower, oblivious to the show he offered her. Her eyes followed the curve of his neck and slid down along his back to his firm ass. Silly, silly man. How had she ever—

  Another memory seared her mind and senses, overwhelming her. They’d been sharing a bath, and one thing had led to another, and she had soon been bent over, her hands flat on the porcelain edge of the tub, groaning with each slide of Logan’s cock inside her, so hot and hard—

  She squeezed her thighs together, relishing the pressure. She almost cursed when she realized she had missed him stepping out of the shower. He was wearing a robe now, and it remained open, revealing a long strip of his muscled chest, tanned skin, and the dark curls from which his cock hung, heavy and thick even at rest. Olivia’s eyes followed him as he walked around the room, oblivious to her presence—or not that oblivious, after all. He had just picked up the crossbow from the wall and turned straight toward her, aiming the wooden arrow in the direction of the open window. His accuracy with that thing was excellent; she had trained him herself.

  “Logan, my love,” she started, raising a hand to her still heart. “It’s all so different—”

  “Don’t even try.” His voice was sharp as a knife. “We learned that lesson together, remember?”

  She shrugged, grinning, and dropped the pretense. “What can I say? You look so fuckable, I had to try.”

  He didn’t acknowledge that she had spoken, but for just a second, the crossbow wavered.

  “Why are you here?”

  Her smile vanished. Ice encased her chest, making it hard for her to breathe—until she remembered she didn’t need to. “You know why. You killed my Sire.”

  “I did my job. And I avenged the woman I loved.”

  Despite herself, she growled. “You tore a hole in my chest and mind, that’s what you did! Did you even stop to think about it? You knew it would happen. They told us at the Academy about that. Don’t you remember?”

  “Go for Childer first,” he quoted, straight out of the textbook. “Killing their Sire might make them insane with pain and that much harder to kill.”

  She took a step closer to the window and rested both her hands on the invisible magic barrier that was stopping her from entering. “Why didn’t you do it, then?” she asked. “Why not follow protocol?”

  He lowered the crossbow and used his free hand to hold the robe closed. When he met her gaze, she could see rare tears in his proud eyes. Closing her fists, she pounded on the barrier, resulting in nothing more than to make him start slightly in surprise.

  “I knew she had killed,” he said softly. “I didn’t know if you…”

  She snorted when he couldn’t even finish. And to think she’d once believed he was a better Special Enforcer than she was! To think she had come here believing it would be a fitting end to their story! She was a fool, that was what she was. And he was no better.

  “Why don’t you come out here, my love?” she taunted. “You’ll know firsthand—”

  Without warning, he raised the crossbow again and pressed the trigger. Caught by surprise, Olivia barely had time to move. She felt the arrow graze her shoulder. It didn’t even tear the fabric of her shirt, but the memory flashed brightly through her mind anyway, blinding her for an instant. When she could see, feel, hear, she remembered at once. She’d just come home from the hospital, with the doctor’s strict orders to take things slow and easy for a whi
le. And they had slipped into bed and done just that. Slow and easy. Lying on their sides, kissing and touching and holding as they rocked against each other, not trying to reach a climax but merely to reassure each other. It had been a close call. She could still hear his voice, repeating over and again as she fell asleep in his arms—

  “I love you.”

  Blinking back to the present, Olivia looked at the man in front of her, just beyond her reach.

  “I love you,” he repeated. “But if you kill, I will stake you.”

  Pain and anger pulled a growl from her throat. He shouldn’t have said that. He should have known better. She had hoped he’d be able to see her for what she was. She still wasn’t sure he did, but she could help him get there.

  “Not if I kill you first, lover,” she replied, snarling.

  For just an instant, she thought she saw him smile.

  “It’s a date, then.”

  “A date?” she snorted. Only Logan would come up with such a silly notion. “I guess you didn’t get the program, but it’s already started, lover. Why do you think I’m here?”

  His eyes never leaving her, he placed the crossbow on the dresser. “I don’t know. What did you expect to do?” With a shrug of his shoulders, the robe slid off him, leaving him nude, just two yards away from Olivia. He might as well have been on the other side of the world. “It’s not like you can get in,” he said, mocking, echoing Olivia’s thoughts.

  Her hands returned to the barrier that protected him, and she unconsciously pressed forward. Inside, Logan had turned away from her. She watched him put on some boxers, then slide into tight jeans and a white t-shirt. Only when she noticed the extra wiggle to his ass and a furtive glance from the corner of his eye did she get it—he was putting on a show for her. And it worked. Her panties clung to her folds, her hands clenching in thin air the way she wished she could rip his clothes off his body. Another growl erupted from her throat. Logan threw her a triumphant look.

  “Problem?” he said in a falsely sweet voice.

  “Only for you when I rip out your throat.”

  All emotions drained from his face. He took a step back, then another, and left the bedroom, swinging the door shut behind him. Olivia closed her eyes and, for a moment, rested her forehead against the barrier. Hunger tore at her guts, demanding that she feed, but her desire was even stronger. She didn’t know how she could bear to talk to him when her body yearned so much for his. She didn’t know how she would get through this anymore. She just knew she had to.

  * * * *

  The fridge started buzzing more loudly, a reminder to Logan that he had been standing in front of it for a little while already. He finally closed the door without pulling anything out. He couldn’t think of eating, not when Olivia—no, he couldn’t think of her as Olivia; that wasn’t who she was anymore—not when she was outside, throwing threats and glares at him.

  If he was honest with himself, he had known she would come tonight. Neither of them had ever cared much about holidays, but they had always made this day special. This was the day when they had graduated from the Academy together and made their relationship official. It was the closest thing they had to an anniversary.

  He wondered if he should call the agency. His coworker had been nothing short of supportive for the past five days. He had understood Logan’s need to take that one assignment and offered to help him. Logan hadn’t wanted help, though. Not for this. He had made a promise, long ago, and he would get through with it. He just needed time. Time to say goodbye, to see her for who she was, to accept that it was over. Time to see her again, just a little longer.

  Barely aware of what he was doing, he turned toward the bedroom door. It had been a while. Was she still in the backyard? He struggled against himself not to return to the bedroom. If he went, he still wouldn’t be able to kill her the way he should. Instead, he’d only look at her, fill his mind with her image, listen to her voice while trying not to pay attention to the actual words. He had enjoyed the reverse strip tease a little too much, enjoyed the look of raw lust that had bloomed on her face as she watched him, and while his mind knew it was crazy, his body longed for her touch. Would it be so bad if just once—

  Glass shattered with a booming crash. Logan jumped. Instinctively, he turned away from the noise, away from the kitchen window, and covered his head with his arms.

  “Come on, lover!” Olivia shouted in. “Let’s get on with it!”

  Logan’s heart jumped with a flash of fear, instantly followed by anger. He looked at the broken glass on the floor, sparkling edges of pain lying around his bare toes, then raised his eyes to the window. Any hurried step he took now would result in blood and pain; any rushed decision he made about Olivia would only bring the same.

  He felt a muscle tick in his cheek as he forced himself to ignore her and carefully picked his way to the broom and dustpan in the corner of the pantry. She continued to shout at him, her voice more angry with each passing minute, but, at least outwardly, he remained calm, even when she threw another rock and broke a piece of glass still clinging to the window frame.

  Inside, he was seething. What did she expect to gain from angering him?

  “Are you too scared to face me?” she called, her voice dripping with contempt. “You always knew I was better than you, didn’t you? You realize what it means. You’re next, honey. It’s just a matter of time. You can either come out or I’ll—”

  “Or you’ll do what? Glare at me until I wither and die?”

  She scowled, but it brought Logan no satisfaction. Despite his mocking words and the strong front he tried to maintain, something had broken inside Logan. He had known she was better than he was. He did know that, sooner or later, it would be his turn—to die or to be turned. He didn’t want to think about which it would be. But he also knew that, before anything else happened, he had to keep his promise. Dumping the glass into the trash bin, he dropped the dustpan and broom and strode over to the stove. A spark of pain radiated from the sole of his foot when he stepped on a bit of glass he had missed. He clenched his teeth and raised his foot to pull it out.

  “First blood to me,” Olivia crowed. “Will you—”

  He grabbed the box of matches next to the stove and threw it through the window as hard and as fast as he could, but even so she caught it easily. She looked at it, then at him, frowning.

  “You want to kill me?” he said, keeping his voice at a normal level even when he wanted nothing more than to shout. “Go ahead. Burn our house, and me inside. Start a tradition for summer bonfires.”

  Her frown deepened. Her jaw clenched and she pulled out a match. Logan’s body stiffened as he watched her, waiting for her to strike the match and put an end to the dreams they had built together in this home. After a few seconds, she broke the lone match and dropped it and the box to the ground.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of fire,” he taunted. “You’re a big bad vamp now. Surely a little bit of fire doesn’t scare you?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and for an instant, Logan could have sworn they weren’t green anymore, but the color of burnt amber. Was she angry, he wondered, or were other emotions tugging at her heart?

  “Or maybe you don’t really want to hurt me,” he said, his voice gentler now. “You came here to see me, but killing me? You could never do it.”

  Deep down, he knew better than to believe a word of what he was saying. They had learned this lesson together in the Academy classrooms. After being turned, vampires couldn’t be expected to retain any of the feelings or allegiances they had held before changing. There were exceptions, there were stories, urban legends, but the truth was that the first instinct of a vampire was to take blood, and killing was not a concern to a hungry fledgling. Logan knew it. He had known it would apply to Olivia, too, from the second he had realized what had happened to her.

  Still, he couldn’t let go of that tiny and fragile thread of hope that was wrapped around his heart. Olivia severed it with just a
few words. Her scowl deepened before vanishing abruptly. She sneered at Logan, baring her fangs for just a second. “Keep telling yourself that, lover. We’ll see how long you last.”

  Turning around abruptly, she strode away. The darkened yard swallowed her. Logan caught himself just before he could call her back. What was wrong with him? He didn’t have a death wish, and he wasn’t ready to stake her yet. It was better if she left. Next time they met, maybe, he’d be able to…

  His hands curled into fists, and he banged them on the cabinet doors behind him. Who was he trying to fool? Next time, nothing would be different. Nothing would ever be different. He would love Olivia until the day he died, and nothing would change that. Not threats, not fangs, not any pain she chose to inflict on him.

  He took a step to the side and again nicked his foot on the broken glass he hadn’t finished sweeping up. His back to the cabinets, he let himself slide down to sit on the floor. Still looking at the shards of glass, he traced his finger along the grout lines between the tiles she had picked.

  It had been three years, almost four since they had bought the house and renovated the kitchen. In his mind, the memory was as fresh as if it had happened last week. The smell of dust and broken plaster had been thick in the air when they had torn the old kitchen apart with the help of a couple of friends. Laughing, they had worked hard, tasting each other’s sweat in the crook of a neck or the softness of a shoulder, while their friends pretended not to notice. That night, when everyone had left, they had washed dust and grime from each other, and—

  With a groan, Logan pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep seeing Olivia everywhere he looked. He couldn’t keep seeing her in that vampire that wore her face like a mask—like an insult. He owed it to her to be stronger, smarter than that.