Nocturnal Urges Page 3

  Isabel was still unable to move, her arms languid and heavy beside her. His mouth traveled lower, licking and kissing a slow line over the upper swells of her breasts to the tender skin between them. She felt the expanding warmth between her thighs, and he gently pushed her legs apart, settling between them.

  “Yes, beloved,” she murmured.

  Ryan caught her nipple in his mouth, rubbing it with his tongue until it hardened into a tiny, sensitive bud. Isabel wanted to reach down and pull him into her, to feel that aching emptiness filled with him. She wanted him to slide into her, to grasp his hardness and feel its velvet-smooth strength as it thrust into her. But her arms would not move, she was still a prisoner of his power over her.

  She looked down at him, at her breast caught in his mouth, and opened her mouth to beg him to enter her. But her words dried up as she saw his teeth sinking into the soft skin of her breast, just above the nipple. Blood pooled up from the bite and he drank greedily, his lips closing over it as a slight line of blood trickled down between her breasts. There was no pain.

  Isabel tried to speak, to push at his head, but that languid stillness remained like an invisible down pillow pressed against her. Then the pleasure began, vibrating between her legs, and she cried out at the building sensation within her skin even as her mind cried out in horror, aghast at the blood now running across her chest, the blood turning reddish-black in the light, the blood—

  Isabel jerked awake with a tiny gasp, her heart pounding in the darkness. She heard Duane’s heavy breathing beside her and knew immediately that he had not awakened. She reached beneath her thin nightshirt and felt the skin above her nipple.

  It was smooth, unmarked and uninjured. But the nipple below it was hard and hot, sensitive to the touch.

  She exhaled, tension leaving her muscles, and she let her hand rest over her breast for a moment. She touched her breast lightly, the real sensations of pleasure rolling over the dream-touches and fading them from memory. Her heart still pounding, she realized she was still highly aroused, charged with a deep sexual energy still unexpended.

  She looked over at Duane’s sleeping form, turned away from her. I wonder if he’d mind if I woke him, she thought, sliding her free hand lightly over his muscular back.

  A brief memory of the dream, Ryan’s mouth sucking blood from her breast, tried to intervene in her mind and she pushed it away relentlessly. The combination of terror and ecstasy was sharp and bitter in her mind, and the pressure between her legs was still unrelieved.

  “Duane,” she murmured, and he did not stir.

  Slowly, she slid a hand over Duane’s hip, down beneath his boxers, and found him flaccid and sleep-warm. She danced her fingers lightly over him, taking him in her hand, gently stroking him. She felt him stir and begin to harden in her hand.

  She worked him lightly, slowly, feeling him grow hotter, firmer beneath her fingers. His breathing changed, and she realized he was awake. She stopped for just a moment to draw her nightshirt over her head and pressed her body full against his back.

  Isabel licked the curve of Duane’s ear, listening to him catch his breath. He was fully hard now, his hand clenching the pillow, and she moved against him tight and strong.

  “God, baby,” he murmured, and rolled onto his back. Isabel slid over him, pressing herself against him, rubbing herself against him in a smooth rocking motion.

  Duane dipped his head between her breasts, molding them with his hands, his mouth opening to taste her. She froze for a moment as his lips closed over her nipple, and the image of Ryan tried to intervene. She bit hard on her lip and the dream receded beneath Duane’s kneading fingers and tight, sucking mouth.

  She slid her hand down between them and guided him to her. He thrust up hard into her, and she cried out in short, gasping breaths. He rocked beneath her, his hands moving down from her breasts to the curve of her hips, steadying her as he slid in and out, filling her over and over again.

  The ache was gone, replaced by a delicious fullness and gasping joy. She rode him harder, heat and sweat covering her body. She took his hands in hers and pressed them up over his head, jerking her hips harder against his rising body. Her nipples hovered bare inches from his face and he caught one in his mouth, sucking it hard and making her cry out.

  The rhythm of his hips sped up beneath her and she knew he was close. His hands broke free of hers and clasped onto her shoulders, pushing her down hard so he could bury himself deep within her. It kept her still, unable to move freely, as though trapped beneath his hands. He jerked and cried out beneath her, and she felt him throb and explode within her, his head thrown back in ecstasy. His hands relented as he came. Isabel continued thrusting, rocking harder, feeling her orgasm swell within her, until she too exploded in wave after wave of bursting sensation.

  The tension in her muscles slowly ebbed. He slipped from her, still breathing hard, and she slid to his side, up against his chest.

  “Damn,” he said softly. “What time is it?”

  Isabel didn’t want to turn and look at the clock. “I don’t know,” she said.

  Duane sat up, leaving her leaning against an empty pillow, and glanced at the clock. “It’s almost two in the morning,” he said, getting up to go toward the bathroom.

  Isabel lay still for a moment, feeling a little lost as the sweat cooled on her skin. The aching emptiness was gone, but at the same time, there seemed to be some other emptiness Duane hadn’t touched, something left unfulfilled.

  He came back in, wearing a fresh pair of boxers. He slid back into bed, and kissed her on the cheek. “You sure know how to give a man a good surprise, baby,” he said, and turned away on his side.

  For a moment, Isabel considered asking him to hold her, or scooting over toward him so he couldn’t possibly ignore her. Then she sighed quietly and got out of bed, still naked. She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water warm.

  She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her black hair was tousled and wild, heat still flushing her face and body. She ran her hands lightly over her skin, feeling the light sweat and the smell of sex still on her body.

  There was a light mark on her breast. A faint, reddish mark.

  Of course there is, she thought.

  The mark was slightly above the nipple. Just a faint reddish tinge.

  Wasn’t Duane sucking on the nipple itself? she thought, and the memory sent a faint twinge of electricity through her still-warm body. But was it Duane’s mouth she was remembering or Ryan’s?

  That’s silly, she thought. It was a dream.

  * * * * *

  “You look better.”

  Isabel looked up from her desk to see Det. Freitas standing over her. “I beg your pardon?”

  Freitas leaned against the cubicle wall. “You look a lot better than the other night. You feeling okay?”

  Isabel glanced around to see if anyone was listening. The office was a honeycomb of cubicles, hiding any number of eavesdropping ears, but no one within her line of sight seemed to be paying attention. “I feel fine, thank you,” she said. “Is there something I can do for you, Detective?”

  Freitas shrugged. “Feel like a cup of coffee?”

  Isabel didn’t feel like a cup of coffee, but she was desperate to get Freitas away from her co-workers. “I’ve got a lunch break in ten minutes. I can leave early.”

  Freitas nodded, and Isabel quickly collected her purse. They walked through the honeycomb in silence, for which Isabel was profoundly grateful. She waited until they were out on the sidewalk before she spoke. “I’m sorry, Detective, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just…”

  “You don’t want your friends to know about your weekend plans,” Freitas finished.

  Isabel shrugged. “It’s just they’re not really my friends. They’re people I work with, that’s all, and I don’t want any rumors running around about me.”

  Freitas gestured to a nearby café. “That place has great coffee,” she said.


  They were seated quickly and Isabel ordered a sandwich, although she wasn’t very hungry. Freitas ordered a ham-and-cheese omelet with extra onions while stirring sugar into her coffee.

  The waitress left, and Isabel stared at Freitas for a moment before speaking. “I suppose I’ll find out eventually, but is there something you want to talk to me about?”

  Freitas sipped her coffee. “Maybe I just wanted to see how you were doing. You didn’t look so hot at the club.”

  Isabel cast her eyes down. “I was tired.”

  “You didn’t look that thrilled to be there,” Freitas said.

  Isabel shook her head. “Is that what this is about? You think someone made me go? I was there of my own free will, and I had a good time.”

  “Whatever you say,” Freitas said.

  Isabel couldn’t help asking. “So that guy, the one whose picture you showed me…”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that,” Freitas said.

  Isabel waved her hand dismissively. “No, I just wanted to know if you caught the guy who did it.”

  “What makes you think it was a guy?” Freitas said, glancing at her.

  Isabel blinked. “I don’t know, I guess it could be a woman,” she said. “Did you catch him? Her? It?”

  “Nope,” Freitas said. “No hims, hers or its. Third body this month at Nocturnal Urges, and I’m starting to get itchy about it.”

  “Three!” Isabel said, shocked.

  “Yup.” Freitas swirled her coffee in her mug. “All three, male patrons. At this point, I’m a step away from consulting a psychic. Don’t suppose you have ideas?”

  Isabel shook her head. “They steal your soul,” she murmured.

  “What was that?” Freitas asked.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Isabel said.

  “No such thing as nothing, what are you thinking?” Freitas asked.

  Isabel hesitated then remembered the man in the photograph, and the blood. “It’s just…if it wasn’t vampires…”

  “And that’s a big if,” Freitas interjected.

  “If it wasn’t the vampires, it could be someone trying to make it look like the vampires,” Isabel said. “There were these protesters…”

  “Yeah, the Students Against Vampires,” Freitas said. “Call themselves SAV, spelled ‘save’ without the E. I think they ought to learn how to spell before they try to save my soul.”

  Isabel giggled a little, and Freitas smiled with her. Then for no reason, they were both laughing, and in that laugh, some of the tension eased. The food arrived while they were laughing, and Isabel found herself laughing all over again at the incongruity of their conversation in this light, airy café with French art prints on the walls and white wicker furniture.

  “They’re mostly harmless,” Freitas said when the laughter faded. “Wave their signs, bother the clientele. They don’t cross the line, at least not that Fiona’s been able to prove.”

  “There was this one guy,” Isabel said. “Dark hair, beard. Real intense. He came over to talk to us on the other side of the street.”

  “Legal, if annoying,” Freitas said.

  “Yeah, but he was really intense. Said the vampires would steal my soul,” Isabel said, and her voice faltered a little.

  “Yeah,” Freitas said, looking rather intently at Isabel. “That’s a common line. Along with, ‘Fucking animals’.”

  Isabel dropped her eyes. “That was rude of him,” she said softly.

  “But it’s what he thinks, isn’t it?” Freitas said. “That’s all the vamps are, animals.”

  “Aren’t they?” Isabel asked. “No, I’m really asking. I don’t know any vampires, but…”

  “You were at the club,” Freitas said, spearing a chunk of ham with her fork. “You saw them. Are they animals?”

  Isabel suddenly saw Ryan’s eyes turn black, felt that jolt between her breasts, the shivers down her spine. “I… I don’t know,” she said.

  “Uh-huh,” Freitas said. “Let me tell you what I know, Miss Nelson. Vamps have minds and bodies, just like us. They live and work, have jobs and apartments, just like us. They’ve got an unusual diet, that’s for sure, but so do vegetarians and kosher Jews, so I’m not going to throw stones. They do good things and sometimes they do bad things, just like us, and then it’s my job to go do something about it.”

  Freitas stopped eating for a moment and looked at Isabel. “There’s all kinds of animals, human and vamp. You can’t tell an animal from a man just by looking, Miss Nelson.”

  “Isabel,” she replied. “You can call me Isabel.”

  * * * * *

  “Watch your step,” the uniform warned her, handing over a clipboard as he stood watch in the alley.

  “Thanks, Wyben, I’ve never been to a crime scene before,” Freitas snapped, glancing at the notes scrawled on the clipboard.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” the kid said. “It’s just real slippery.”

  Judging by the blood smeared along Wyben’s pants, he’d figured that out the hard way, she thought. The two short steps leading into the abandoned building were slicked with blood, almost invisible against the dark, filthy cement in the shadows cast by the orange streetlight.

  “Photogs done?” Freitas asked.

  “Yeah,” Wyben said, looking a little green. “M.E., too. Soon as you’re done, they’ll bag him.”

  Wyben was trying to look tough, but even in the crappy orange light Freitas could see he was pale. She tried to think of something steadying to say, but quickly gave up. Comfort wasn’t one of her strengths.

  Freitas stepped—carefully—over the blood-soaked steps and into the shadowy space beyond. A few jury-rigged lights had been set up, and three officers held up their flashlights, sending dancing shadows around the abandoned building. A photographer was carefully loading his equipment back into a bag and everyone was walking on eggshells.

  Freitas tried to avoid the runnels of blood all over the floor, but finally gave up. Crappy shoes anyway. She walked straight through the blood toward the body, laid out under the best of the lights.

  “Dead no more than a few hours, the blood’s only tacky,” said the medical examiner, squatting beside the body. Freitas thought only three types of people could squat gracefully—little children, the mothers of little children and Joann Betschart, a medical examiner who didn’t like to kneel in blood and shit. If Freitas tried squatting like that, she’d end up with a big smeary bloodstain on her ass.

  “Vamp?” Freitas asked, staring at the guy’s torn-up throat. No way he’d been any older than twenty. His blue eyes stared sightless, frozen in nearly comical shock at whatever had been his last sight on earth.

  “Unofficially?” Betschart said. “It’s someone who really likes to bite. Not a dog or other predator—that’s a human bite radius. Not enough tissue left for a match, but I bet if you find the sick son of a bitch, you won’t have any trouble figuring out it’s him.”

  Freitas leaned over, shining her flashlight right at the torn flesh of the throat. In the harsh relief of concentrated light, the wound looked like someone had jammed a monster firecracker down the guy’s throat and set it off.

  “Tell me he’s never been to a particular club near Beale,” Freitas said.

  “Can’t help you there,” Betschart said. “He’s got old bites.”

  Freitas leaned closer. “How can you tell? His neck’s hamburger.”

  “Wrist,” Betschart said, lifting the meaty arm. Freitas shone her flashlight at it, and sure enough, there were the telltale pockmarks of a regular feeder.

  “Doesn’t mean NU,” Freitas said. “He could have a vamp lover.”

  “That’s your department,” Betschart said. “I just work here.”

  “It’ll be NU,” Freitas sighed. “Wonder what this one did to get munched.”

  Betschart shrugged and straightened up. “Kept breathing?”

  “Ha. That’s funny, Joann, you gonna come back for a curtain call?” Freitas took a closer look at the
bites on the wrist.

  “Testy, Annie, you might want to get more fiber in your diet,” Betschart said. “I’ll send my boys down for him. Wyben outside has his vitals.”

  “Yeah, I saw the sheet,” Freitas said, running her flashlight around the body in a quick, cursory glance. “No wife and kids this time, praise the Lord and pass the blood.”

  “It’s gonna stink to high heaven in here by Tuesday,” Betschart said. “They’d better get a HAZMAT team in.”

  “Better yet, just tear the whole nasty-ass place down, this building gives me the creeps,” Freitas said. “Blood barely changes the decor, and by the way, why is there so much of it? Don’t suppose Dead Man Bleeding had any company?”

  “Nope,” Betschart said. “There’s two gallons of blood in the human body. You take one glass of orange juice, drop it, and it’ll cover half the kitchen floor. Two gallons’ll mess up half your house quite efficiently.”

  “I can always count on you for gruesome, useless trivia, Joann,” Freitas said, following her out.

  “See ya next body,” Betschart said, turning the opposite way.

  Shit, Freitas thought. Four.

  * * * * *

  The water flowed over Isabel’s fingers, and she jerked them away quickly. She turned down the hot water a little and added two scoops of bubble bath salts to the water.

  Humming to herself, she switched on the radio and let jazz music fill the room. She lit a candle beside the oversized oval tub.

  In the mirror, she saw the fading marks on her neck.

  It had been two weeks since the night at Nocturnal Urges and the marks were already healed over. Only a faint reddish tinge remained.

  Isabel sighed and unwrapped her robe belt. Of course, at that moment the phone rang in the bedroom. She dove for it, keeping an eye on the water level in the tub. “Hello?”

  “Hey, baby,” Duane said. “What’re you doing?”

  “Taking a bath,” Isabel said, walking back into the bathroom with the cordless phone. “It’s a very exciting evening.”