Diana eyeballed Jesus as he stiffly took a seat across from where she was lounging on the condo’s balcony, winced, and rubbed his hands together against the cold.
“You look a little...frayed around the edges” was the best way she could think of to describe her boss.
“Tired. Rough night, and it's cold as shit out here today,” he groused. “Any reason we can't sit inside like normal people?”
Diana sent him a wry smile and tsked. “Maybe you need to get a playmate who’s more your age, so she doesn't wear you out so much. Besides, I'm packing in as many daylight hours as I can before—” She found it hard to say the words, and stopped abruptly.
Judging from the way her friend’s lips pressed into a thin line, he was just as uncomfortable at the thought. “You really mean to go through with it?”
“Yes, I do. I'd do anything to save my baby, and to spend eternal life with Ryder. Why wouldn't I want that? Why wouldn’t I want a real happily-ever-after?”
He winced again and dragged a hand through his hair. “Maybe because you might become a violent bloodsucking demon?”
She arched a brow. “Like Michaela? Is that why you're sore today? She put the bite on you?”
A tangle of emotions roiled across his face like a storm, darkening his gaze and bringing heated color to his cheeks. “No. A vampire got to me down in one of the tunnels when we were trying to track down Michaela's father.”
“Father? As in the violent bloodsucking demon who killed her mother?” Diana asked, a terrible feeling of foreboding clenching her gut. The baby seemed to sense her upset, moving back and forth in her belly and dragging a grunt from her at the cramp.
Jesus frowned. “Why don't we go back inside where you can lie down?”
She waved him off. “Thanks, but I’ve been lying down for nearly two weeks. Besides, I get the feeling this baby is sure it’s time to fly the coop.”
He clucked his tongue. “Just as impatient as its mother.”
Diana laughed, and nudged his foot with hers. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
That pulled a chuckle from him, along with another grimace of pain.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, starting to be concerned.
“I’ve been hurt worse. The wound’s just in an awkward spot.” He exhaled. “So. I brought you another file that I could use your opinion on, if you’re up to it.”
“Oh, I’m up to it. Anything to keep my mind off...everything.” And to make her feel as if the decision she’d made wasn’t about to turn her life completely around...or shatter it into tiny pieces.
He hesitated a moment. “After the baby, you’re entitled to maternity leave. I was hoping after that—”
She made a face. “After that, who knows what I’ll be able to do. But you know I want to come back to work,” she said, hoping that the gift of immortality wouldn’t take away those things that were most important to her.
Her job.
Her baby.
Ryder.
“More than anyone I’ve ever met,” he said, “you were meant to be an FBI agent. We’ll find a way to get you back to work.” He reached out and patted her knee in a gesture of affection that was unusual for him. But since hooking up with Michaela, Diana’s boss had been a lot more laid back. A good thing—except it opened him up to a world of hurt when Michaela did a disappearing act.
As much as Diana liked the young dhampir, she got the sense Michaela didn’t stay in one place for too long. Which reminded her...
“I appreciate you looking out for me, Jesus. But I have another favor to ask. Not of you, actually, but of Michaela.”
With a puzzled look, he said, “I’m sure she’d help you out however she can.”
Diana bit her lip, feeling as awkward as Michaela might when Jesus repeated her request. “This is a little difficult to ask, but—we could really use a sample of her blood for when the baby comes. We need to know—”
Jesus looked pained. “If turning you helped the baby. I get it. Michaela’s one of a kind, in more ways than one. I’ll call and ask her.”
Diana smiled, relieved at his ready acceptance. She would be even more relieved if Michaela agreed. “Thanks. Just let me know what time is good, and Maggie will come to draw the blood. Melissa has too much going on at the hospital in the next few days to get away.”
Jesus squirmed in his chair, clearly uncomfortable at the mention of their mutual friend and fellow FBI Agent, Dr. Maggie Gonzalez. “Maggie seems to be adjusting well. Harris also.”
As well as two people could adjust to the fact that they were now werewolves.
“She’s handling the changes like a trooper, and she’s very happy to be back with David. That helps, I’m sure,” she said. Diana and Maggie had seen each other regularly in the weeks since the incident that landed Diana in the hospital...and turned her two friends into something other than human.
“You and Harris. Everything cool with you two?” As their boss, Jesus was well acquainted with the issues that had caused a rift between her and her former partner, David Harris. Thankfully, during the recent werewolf case, they had reconciled. David had been more than a partner to her. He had been one of her best friends. She was relieved they had worked out so many of their issues. Only time would tell if they could become good friends again.
“Everything’s good with David. Once he’s able to go back to active duty, I’d appreciate it if you would think about letting me partner with him again,” she offered for his consideration.
He blinked. “A vampire and a werewolf working together? Wow. I guess it’s safe to say you’d bring a mix of talents to your investigations,” he said dryly, although his voice was shaded with concern.
“Yeah, that about says it all. The Monster Squad. No case too big or too weird for us to handle,” she said with a smirk.
Jesus’s cell phone chirped, pulling his attention. He raised a finger at her as he answered. A call from the office, she could tell, and not a good one. Jesus’s features grew more dour with each passing second.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll meet you at the morgue, and afterward we can make the notification to his family.” He finished the call and swiped his hand across his brow, then dropped it wearily to his leg.
Diana reached over and covered it with hers. “Boss? Who did we lose?”
“Smith. Damn.” His jaw clenched. “It was supposed to be a routine interview on the kidnapping case he and Baxter are working. The interviewee freaked and opened fire. Baxter is in the hospital. Took one to the chest, but he’ll make it.”
Diana recalled the case. They had asked for her opinion just before she had ended up in the hospital. A young girl had disappeared under disturbing circumstances. “I guess he was the kidnapper. What about the missing girl?”
“They found her alive in the basement. The other five girls they found down there were not as lucky.”
A serial killer. She had been afraid of that, and had warned Baxter and Smith that it felt like more than a simple kidnapping. “Please send Baxter my best. If there’s anything I can do to help—”
“I may need you to assist Baxter to finish the report. That is, if you’re up to it.”
She nodded. “Of course.” Assuming she was still around. Inside her, the chill and uncertainty of her heartbeat, the nervous movements of the baby and the painful cramps, all warned that she had little time left before—
Jesus suddenly rose and offered a helping hand to her. “Walk me to the door and then get back in bed. You need to rest.”
She slipped her hand into his and as fast as she could waddle, they went to the door. He turned and embraced her, the hug tight, communicating so much more than words ever could. “Don’t worry. I’ve been through worse before. I’ll be okay.”
“What could be worse than dying?” he said gruffly, and pulled away. “I’ll speak to Michaela. Get her over here today if I can.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that. I’ve really got to— I need to do this. Soon.”
***
The flight of the sun upward pulled Connall from his daytime slumber.
Inside his body was cold, but his skin was pleasantly warmed by the woman huddled close to him.
Kieran’s lover.
Siobhan had come to him last night, interrupting his pleasant interlude with two other feed bags. She had frantically begged him to go help Kieran, to save him, and Connall had given in.
He’d always had a fondness for Kieran. He was like the son he’d never had—before he was turned, anyway. As his most recent fledging, Kieran held a unique place in his life.
He supposed that was why he’d felt such rage and pain at seeing the boy lying there, staked, his life’s blood emptied onto the dirt floor from his slashed throat. Such a waste.
And all because of Michaela, according to Siobhan. He had no doubt that was who had killed Kieran, based on the feed bag’s description.
His hands curled into fists as he recalled carrying Kieran to the river. Pulling the stake from his chest before tossing him over the railing of the East River Promenade. Watching him float away and slowly started to sink, water flowing in through his ruined throat to fill his lungs.
Connall had kept the stake. It sat on a table on the far wall of the tiny basement studio apartment that belonged to one of his feed bags. She was off at work now, but would be back later, and although she didn’t mind sharing him—not that she had a choice—she probably didn’t want Siobhan hanging around her place.
Siobhan had always been a little...unhinged. Last night, she wouldn’t stop ranting about wanting to be turned to avenge Kieran. The problem with turning her was that he didn’t think he would be able to control her afterward. The last thing he needed was some crazy bitch distracting him while he hunted down his daughter.
Michaela.
Siobhan had told him that the man last night had called her Michaela.
A strong name for a strong woman. For a moment, fatherly pride reared up—until he remembered she was out for his blood.
She would not die easily. He needed his wits about him.
Beside him, Siobhan roused, and he shot her a glance.
She had been pretty once. No longer. Dark circles beneath her eyes marred her pale skin. Her emerald eyes were dull and red-rimmed, bloodshot from lack of sleep and her incessant weeping.
She had cried so much after following him back from the Promenade he’d been forced to comfort her along with his companion. Lying beneath him, accepting his thrusts, she had still wailed about her loss, ruining his pleasure. But at least afterward, when he had driven his fangs deep into her neck, she had quieted.
“Connall,” she said, her voice husky from sleep and grief.
He knew what she was going to say next. He stifled his irritation. “Kieran’s gone, Siobhan. Rest easy that I will make the Slayer pay for taking him from us.”
“That’s not enough,” she whined angrily. “I want to do it. I want to drive the stake into her heart and drink her blood,” she said with a fervor he had once felt, long ago, when he was still human, and had stood up for his king and the freedom of his people. He had given his blood—and his life—to one of his foe’s vampire soldiers, but only because he had been weakened by a sword thrust from the vampire’s woman.
It was why he took such satisfaction in hurting women. Payback for the life a woman had taken from him.
“You’ll have your vengeance, mo cuishle,” he said, using an Irish term of endearment in an effort to calm her.
She reared up and jabbed his chest with a pointy finger. “Don’t call me that. That’s what Kieran called me. I was his love, and he was mine.”
At least she had spirit. Maybe turning her wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He’d grown tired of all the mewling, clinging feed bags who chased after him in hopes of a good fuck and an orgasmic bite. Snatching her finger in midpoke, he rolled her beneath him. She struggled as he covered her with his body, exciting him.
He liked it when they struggled against his domination. When they fought him, like Michaela’s mother had fought him. Because they always lost.
Smiling, he amused himself by pinning her arms above her head and forcing her legs apart with his. Thick and hard, he rubbed against her belly, enjoying the feel of her warmth and smooth skin along his rampant erection.
She stilled and hitched a breath, her anger morphing as her physical addiction enslaved her.
“Connall,” she cried, and arched her back, offering herself to him.
He had never been one to pass up an offer.
He bent and suckled her generous breasts, pleased that they were real. Too many today were false and lifeless, but not hers. They puckered tight and tasted so sweet. As he drew one deep into his mouth, she moaned with pleasure and he released her wrists.
She held his head to her, pleading with him for more, and he gave it to her, biting and sucking. Driving into her, to satisfy them both. But quickly, because revenge was on his mind, more than pleasure.
As she came beneath him, bucking off the bed, she pleaded again, “Please, Connall. For Kieran. Kiss me for Kieran.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He met her gaze, which was filled with determination, totally sure of what she was asking.
He eased out a breath. What the hell.
“For Kieran,” he said, and stabbed his fangs deep into her throat.