Blurred Bloodlines [2nd in Blurred Trilogy] Read online

  "If you cut me,” he warned, but couldn't finish the threat. Eyes rolling back in his head, he let himself go slack again, except for his fisted hands, one gripping the sheets, the other still tight in Blake's hair.

  Blake continued to slurp and swallow Marc's cock, never retracting his fangs even though he knew better than to bite without being invited to do so. Marc wasn't opposed to a bit of shared blood during sex, but on his terms.

  Flashes of light sparked behind Marc's eyelids as the pressure built inside him, accentuated by Blake's fingers dancing on his balls, trailing fire and ice with each touch.

  When the mood struck him, Blake could make a blowjob last what felt like forever, bringing Marc to the edge before drawing him back several times, usually until Marc was unable to endure any more and fucked his mouth until coming.

  This time, though, Blake seemed in no mood to play, and was all business: suction, pressure, licks, and caresses only built into a crescendo, leaving Marc no escape and pushing him inexorably toward pleasure.

  When Blake slid back up the bed, still licking his lips like the famed canary-eating cat, Marc greeted him with a deep kiss and a hand fisted over his hard cock. Maybe Blake could draw an orgasm from Marc in moments, but Marc was quite capable of doing the same. In seconds, he had Blake writhing against him, fingers digging into his shoulders, hips pumping into his hand. In minutes, he was licking come off his fingers, Blake still breathing heavily next to him.

  As they lay side by side on the bed, shoulders, hips and legs pressed together more by the sheer happenstance of familiarity than concerted design, Marc tried to imagine what it would be like to have Kate there with them. Would she lie between them or pick a side? Either option would have been nice, although as he closed his eyes Marc couldn't find fault with his current sleeping arrangements.

  "So tell me,” Blake said, sounding much too awake when Marc was falling asleep. “How does the idea of having a new Childe sound?"

  Without opening his eyes, Marc scoffed. “She'd never—"

  "Not her,” Blake cut in with a yawn. There was laughter in his voice when he added, “Daniel."

  It took a few seconds before the pronouncement fully hit Marc. When it did, his eyes snapped open, and he frowned up at the darkened ceiling. “What?"

  Blake shifted next to him, rolling onto his side and leaning up on his elbow. He grinned down at Marc, apparently having a lot of fun. “He's going to ask you to sire him."

  Marc's frown only deepened. What on earth was Blake up to now? “What?” he said again, feeling foolish but unable to form a coherent thought.

  "Did she fuck your brains out?” Blake asked, raising an amused eyebrow at him. “You seem to lack your usual coherence."

  "Why would Daniel...” Blinking wildly, Marc sat up to see Blake better. His expression was one of pure enjoyment, the one Blake usually reserved for the times he played tricks on Marc. “Are you making fun... How would you even...” Shaking his head, he frowned. “What the hell?"

  Blake laughed. “The little minx. She did fuck your brain to mush.” He patted Marc's chest as though to soothe him. “Sleep. It'll make more sense when you wake up."

  Taking his own advice, he laid down again, turning away from Marc and pushing back against him until Marc took his usual position against his back, an arm curled around Blake. He closed his eyes, hoping things would indeed be clearer by morning.

  But when Marc did wake up, he was still as confused. To make matters worse, Blake was gone, leaving Marc no opportunity to find answers. He could imagine all too well where Blake had gone, though, so he couldn't be too annoyed about having been abandoned. It was good that one of them would be there when Kate woke up.

  Still caught between sweet memories of his evening with Kate and more perplexing ones from his conversation with Blake, Marc showered and got dressed before wandering down to the lobby for some coffee. As he walked by Daniel's office, he noticed that the door was open. He might as well, he figured, and walked on over. He knocked on the doorjamb before entering, and Daniel looked up from the crossbow he had disassembled to clean. Three thick metallic arrows lay on the desk, waiting to be reloaded. Weapons like this had once been used with wooden arrows against vampires, but metal worked much better against demons, as long as you managed to hit them in the head.

  "Morning,” Marc said, stepping over the tangled electric cord next to the desk to sit down in the chair facing Daniel. “Anything new?"

  Daniel groaned and set the crossbow down, looking disgusted. “I knew I shouldn't have talked to him."

  Surprised, Marc let out a bark of laughter. “You mean you really want me to turn you?"

  "Not like that, no. Just...” Daniel sighed and leaned back in his chair. “If I'm hurt? You know, if it looks like I'm not going to make it... I've heard some vamps make pacts with humans like that."

  Marc had heard about it, too. It wasn't like the Pacts of old, when human had offered their blood in exchange for security, but the arrangement was still valid—if the human knew what he or she was signing up for. They didn't always understand.

  "Why would you want this?” he asked. “Is it only to live longer?"

  Daniel answered without hesitation. “No. I'm not that greedy. I promised myself when I was a young man that I'd see the end of the demons. Now that it seems like that end is coming, I really wouldn't want to miss it by a few months or years."

  Marc nodded. “I know the feeling. But do you understand what you're asking for?"

  "What I'm not asking,” Daniel said with a forced chuckle, “is for us to have the same kind of relationship you share with Blake."

  That made Marc smile. He had been pretty sure Daniel wouldn't care much for that kind of thing. Of course, there was no way to predict whether he'd still feel the same when—if—he was turned.

  "That's not what I mean. You're a leader. Can you follow?"

  Daniel frowned. “I don't understand. I'm a soldier. Of course I can follow orders."

  Marc settled more deeply in the leather chair and considered the man in front of him. Even wearing a casual gray shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the topmost button undone at the collar, he looked exactly like what he was: a soldier. Not just that, but a leader, too. It might have been the way he held himself, or maybe the sheer presence that exuded from him. He was in charge, he knew it, and he wasn't afraid of his responsibilities. While that was part of what made him a good leader, the same assurance did not always make for an easy transition into becoming a vampire.

  "I'm not too demanding,” Marc explained slowly, picking each word carefully. “But a new vampire needs to listen to his Sire. It's like... something inside you, like the need for blood and the fear of sunlight. If you don't listen, you'll be miserable, and you'll put yourself and the ones around you in danger. Can you follow, Daniel?"

  For long minutes, Daniel did nothing more than look at him, his frown slowly deepening. Eventually, he sighed. “I don't know,” he said quietly.

  Marc nodded. If Daniel had given him any other answer, he wouldn't have believed him. “Good. Keep thinking about it, and tell me once you've figured it out."

  It was the smell of insta-coffee that pulled Kate from a deep, dreamless sleep, and she hummed in contentment. Blake always went to get her coffee when he spent the night, and breakfast in bed was a luxury she had easily become accustomed to. She stretched her arms over her head, then adjusted the sheet over her. The feel of fine, heavy cotton sliding over her body brought the previous night to her in a flash. Not Blake, she now remembered, heat suffusing her cheeks. And she hadn't thought Marc would be there in the morning. Hadn't he awakened her to say goodbye with a kiss—or rather, a few kisses and even a little more?

  "Awake?"

  Her eyes snapped open at the whispered word, and she turned her head in the direction of Blake's voice. The strands of light had faded during the night, and all she could see was a vague shape against the wall. She reached blindly for the lamp on the n
ight table. It buzzed to life and cast a progressively brighter light on the room. Blake was leaning back against the wall. He smiled at her when their eyes met.

  "Hey. Good morning."

  She smiled back, clutching the sheet to her bashfully. “Hey, yourself."

  "Breakfast?” Without waiting for her answer, he picked up a plastic tray from her dresser and brought it to her. She slid to the side and sat up, the sheet firmly held in place by her arms. Blake sat next to her, facing her, and placed the tray on her lap. Behind the usual cup of coffee and plate of toast, a glass half-filled with water served as makeshift vase for three roses, two pink ones that were still tight buds and a red one in full bloom. She touched a pink bud with a fingertip, as always marveling about Blake's talent for finding anything he wanted, it seemed. She hadn't seen flowers like these since she had been a little girl.

  "Thank you. They're lovely."

  His smile brightened a little more. She picked up a piece of toast and nibbled on the corner. She hadn't even swallowed yet when he asked, “So how was it?"

  The bit of toast went down wrong and she coughed, forgetting to hold the sheet up as she covered her mouth with her free hand. The tray on her lap shook, and the coffee came dangerously close to spilling. Glaring at him through watery eyes had no effect, and he merely raised an eyebrow at her.

  "What? You knew I was going to ask."

  "Well, I'm not telling.” She took a larger bite of toast, still glaring, daring him to make her choke on her food again. He didn't say anything but kept grinning. She looked at the ceiling in disgust. “God, you're—"

  "Impossible, yes,” he said with a shrug. “But seriously. How was it?"

  "I was going to say incorrigible,” she said, ignoring the question. She took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes, relishing the warmth as much as the flavor.

  "Incorrigible, sure. But did you have a good time?"

  Drinking more deeply, she looked at him again, ready to lash out. The words died on her tongue. He wasn't asking for a play-by-play of her night, she realized—though he might if she was foolish enough to give him an opening. He wanted to know if things had gone well, if all his scheming, all his claims that she wouldn't regret this had come to pass. As she put down her empty cup, she could feel a smile rising to her lips and let it.

  "Yes. We had a good time."

  It wasn't until she saw him relax that she realized he had been nervous. His smile never wavered. “I'm glad."

  He started leaning over the tray, but the roses were in the way. She hurriedly caught the tipping glass before it could spill and turned to place it on the nightstand, next to the empty champagne bottle and glasses. While she did so, he picked up the tray from her lap and placed it on the floor. When he leaned in again, there was nothing to stop him from kissing her.

  His lips caressed hers, soft as the cotton candy she had tasted once when she had been a little girl. Just as sweet, too. She dropped her eyelids to half-mast and parted her lips, inviting Blake's tongue inside. He not only slipped inside her mouth, he also moved closer to her on the bed, one hand cupping the back of her neck, while the other slid over her collarbone.

  Her thoughts blurred for a moment, and she let his fingers sneak under the sheet. They left a fiery trail of sensations over her breast and stomach and were already reaching the apex of her legs when she realized what he was doing. She broke the kiss and caught his hand, bringing it back over the sheet.

  "Oh no, you don't!” she said firmly when he gave her a surprised look. “I must reek of him."

  She had heard him comment too often on the scent of her soap or shampoo not to know how keen Blake's sense of smell was.

  He grinned, and the tip of his tongue peeked between his teeth. “You smell delicious."

  He started moving over her again, but she clucked her tongue. “Blake, I was with another man just hours ago. I am not sleeping with you now."

  He pouted. “You weren't with another man. You were with my lover. You think I don't like the way he smells?” His voice dropped to a whisper, and this time he licked his lips. “The way he tastes? The way you two taste together?"

  Kate's eyes widened at the implication, and she practically leaped out of bed, escaping his advances. “Not happening.” She shook a warning finger at him when he leered at her. “And I mean it. I'll go take a shower now. And you and I are not doing anything."

  She started walking backward toward the bathroom. He had seen her naked often enough that she cared more about keeping an eye on him than about giving him an eyeful.

  He never took his gaze off her, but sighed dramatically. “Can I at least come in and wash your back? I promise not to be naughty."

  He gave her his most innocent smile, and that surely should have been enough of a warning. She was weak. She let him come in with her.

  Blake followed Kate into the shower and picked up the washcloth and bar of soap from the ledge. As he wet both and worked a lather into the washcloth, the scent of lavender filled the shower stall, and he smiled.

  "Love that scent,” he murmured.

  She glanced back over her shoulder, beads of water clinging to her eyelashes like so many diamonds. Her eyes and smile shone even more brightly. “I know you do."

  True to his word, he washed her back—only spending a little more time than absolutely necessary on her lovely ass—before handing her the soap and washcloth. Her hair was wet by then, her usual braid in disarray. He pulled the elastic tie off and carded his fingers through her hair, unweaving what remained of the braid. After pouring a dollop of shampoo into his hand, he started washing her hair, pressing his fingers into her scalp the way he knew she liked. This never missed—she tilted her head back and started humming tunelessly, coming as close to a purr as a human throat possibly could. Blake grinned.

  "Close your eyes.” He reached up and angled the nozzle so that the water hit her head more fully. The shampoo sluiced off, helped by Blake's fingers raking through the gleaming strands.

  As he brushed her hair back, he noticed for the first time the small, red mark on her neck just above the necklace, the broken capillaries so stark on her pale skin. Lust flared through him, and his cock, which had only been half hard so far, filled with need until it was brushing against her ass. She went very still when he touched the mark, first with a careful finger, then with his lips. He trailed kisses up her neck and kissed her earlobe just above the earring before murmuring, “Things must have gone even better than I thought, if you let him mark you like this."

  Leaning in, he kissed the mark again, adding a small lick this time. She shuddered against him, and despite her warning that nothing would happen, desire was thick in her scent. She turned in his embrace and nestled her head beneath his chin, pressing her body to his and trapping his cock between them.

  He ran a hand up and down her back, but always his mind returned to that small lovebite. “Do you like being marked, sweetheart?"

  She groaned against his chest, and her right hand dropped to his ass for a punishing pinch. “I hate when you call me that.” She looked up at him, her eyes full of reproach. “Why do you keep doing it?"

  Smiling, he trailed his fingertips up her arm and shoulder, ending at her cheek. “Because you're beautiful when you're mad,” he said and meant it. He stroked the corner of her mouth with his thumb until her lips curled slightly. “And when you smile. When you're happy.” His thumb caressed her lips, and they parted, her tongue flicking out against the pad of his finger. “When you're horny.” She hid her face against his chest at that, and his hand slid to the back of her head, cupping it lightly. “When you're shy. When you kick ass.” As much as he tried to keep his voice level, it dropped to a murmur on his last words. “When I tell you I love you."

  He could feel her entire body turn to stone against him and wondered if he had made a mistake, as a lump grew at the back of his throat. Very slowly, she pulled back and stared at him, blinking very fast to shake off the droplets of water that clung t
o her eyelashes.

  "What did you—"

  He didn't have the patience to let her finish. “I love you,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “I should have said it sooner. But I really do."

  Her eyes widened a little more still, in shock or surprise but, he hoped, not in disbelief. Afraid that she would think he was teasing, he continued to babble, as though more words would convince her of the truth of the first three.

  "Vampires aren't supposed to love,” he said quickly. “And you shouldn't expect Marc to say the words because he's too stubborn to do it, but it's all a big lie, we can love just as well as humans do, and I—"

  Her face suddenly broke into a beaming smile. “I love you, too,” she said, and raised herself to her toes to press her lips to his in a brief and chaste kiss.

  As he held her tightly to him, as tightly as she held him in return, he could feel her heart beating against his chest. It felt as wild as a hummingbird's wings, and for a moment Blake could have sworn it was his own heart beating so fast for her.

  They remained under the spray of water only a moment longer before she reached behind herself and shut it off. They stepped out of the stall together, and without needing to say another word wrapped each other in towels that had once been thick and plush. They laid on the bed side by side, his arm at her waist and her hand on his cheek as she guided his mouth to hers.

  They had kissed dozens, hundreds of times since the first kiss he had requested from her. It had never been as sweet as this one kiss, their lips and tongues coming together and apart again in a slow dance that needed no more music than that of her heartbeat, and the words still echoing through Blake's mind—and hers as well, he was sure.

  Losing himself to the moment, he slid his hand from her waist to the top of her towel, where the tucked-in corner held it in place. He started pulling at it so that he could lie skin to skin with her, but she closed her hand over his fingers and stopped him.

  "You promised,” she reminded him.