Sundown Inc.: She Who Dares Read online

  Sundown Inc.: She Who Dares

  Cat Marsters

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2005 Cat Marsters

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC.

  ISBN(10) 1-59596-214-X

  ISBN(13) 978-1-59596-214-0

  Formats Available:

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  MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1561

  Shepherdstown, WV 25443-1561

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Sheri Ross Carucci

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Chapter One

  There are nights when I seriously wish I’d never risen from the grave.

  I mean, you roll out of bed (because seriously, who sleeps in a coffin these days?) go and take a shower, and five minutes later someone crashes through the window with a stake, screaming death at you.

  Whatever. I’d prefer to do my slaying wearing a little more, but a girl’s gotta protect herself even when she’s naked.

  Mostly I was annoyed that he’d broken into my house. He was a teenybopper with a stake and a nervous expression. I gave him an ultimatum: either run away and never came back, or I crush your throat.

  He ran.

  It’s not that I don’t like humans. I do. Sometimes I can even eat a whole one.

  Joke.

  Some of my best friends are human. I’ve had human lovers, plenty of them. Although the thing with human lovers is they tend to be vampire groupies. They’re in it for the thrill of the bite. It’s all rather shallow.

  I locked my door and added ‘Update alarm system’ to my mental to-do list. Honestly, you spend fucking millions on a system and it still lets humans in. I wonder if the Queen has this problem?

  I showered and dressed. Leather, ’cos I was feeling kickass. Yeah, it’s a cliché, but for good reason. Strutting around in heels and leather makes a girl feel damn sexy. And when your face and body have been ruined for twenty-three centuries, sexy is hard to come by.

  A couple of holsters and I was good to go. The British police frown on civilians carrying weapons, but I learned how to mind-bend policemen years ago. And weapons are de rigueur in my kind of job. Yeah, superhuman speed, strength, stamina -- plus a vicious set of fangs -- make mincemeat of humans. But I don’t hunt humans.

  I hunt scarier things than that.

  I double-checked my alarm as I left, and went out to play.

  Chapter Two

  London is a great place to be a vampire. Bram Stoker actually did us a favour, you know: now everyone’s quite sure vampires only live in spooky old castles and bathe in the blood of the innocent. I’ve lived in cities all my life, I don’t give a flying fuck whose blood I drink, and I sure as hell don’t bathe in it. In the interests of staying below the radar I just take blood bank stock. They chuck it out after a couple of months, but it still tastes good to me.

  There are vamps who drink animal blood. But blood makes me horny, and I’ve never been into bestiality.

  I dropped into Willie’s Bar on my way to the office. It’s low, dark, and a bit of a dive to be honest, but he mixes a mean Cosmo and rarely comments if I have blood on my clothes. Willie is a short, balding guy who always has sweat patches under his arms. He waved when he saw me come in.

  “Hey, Mas,” he said as I fought through the crowds to the bar. He was already pouring Citron vodka into the shaker. “How’s it going?”

  “I’ve been awake an hour and already someone’s tried to kill me.”

  “Could be worse.”

  “How?”

  “They could have succeeded.”

  I snorted as he handed over my drink, and turned to survey the bar as I sipped it. Mmm, lovely. “Cheers, Willie. Put it on my tab.”

  “You want me to keep my ears open for anything?”

  “Sure. If anyone comes in asking after me…”

  “Funny you should say that,” he said.

  “What?”

  He nodded over to the far side of the bar. It was dark over there. Makeout corner. But you don’t lose out on eternal sunshine without getting a few benefits. My night vision was superb, and I noticed one man leaning against the railing of the mezzanine, a woman draped across his chest. He had his back to me, but that just made the view better. Mmmm. Yummy Butt.

  Then he turned, and I lost my breath.

  He wore dark shades even indoors, and his hair was blond. Long, although it was an expensive cut. He had soft, full, sensual lips and a rather adorable dimple in his chin, but the rest of his face was hard, square, firm. His clothes were dark, leather jeans and a tight T-shirt. Biker boots.

  He was what my friend Magda would have called a fucking horny bloke.

  Certainly his companion seemed to think so. She was rubbing his chest and smooching his neck, and he was paying her the sort of vague attention one might give a pet when there’s a good film on TV.

  His gaze rested on me. I didn’t need to see his eyes to feel it. I felt it like a warm beam.

  “See you’ve found him, then.” Willie’s voice sounded far away, and I nodded vaguely. My feet were already taking me toward Mr. Yummy Butt.

  The bar was full of people and they were all human. I could feel them, smell them. Their sweat and their blood and their sex. At least two people had been having sex in here. A lot more were thinking hard about it. Their lust filled the air like heavy perfume.

  But there was someone here who wasn’t human. The sharp scent of another vampire penetrated the fog, and it didn’t distract me from the path I was already on.

  Mr. Yummy Butt was a vampire.

  He pushed his girlie friend away from him as I got near. He must have mind-bent her because she didn’t protest, and hell -- if you lost that body, you would protest.

  “Masika.”

  A shudder ran through me at the sound of my name. No; at the sound of his voice saying my name. Great Bast, a woman could orgasm from that kind of sound. His voice was so deep, rough and smooth at the same time, like sand on silk. I felt my nipples rise and my pussy dampen.

  “And you are?”

  He gave me a lethal smile. “Sekani.”

  ‘He Who Laughs.’ That made my eyebrows rise -- I didn’t hear my own language often these days. “You’re not Egyptian.”

  “Greek.”

  “Ah.” I tried to keep the sneer from my face. The greatest civilisation in the world -- fuck that, the only civilisation in the world -- and they rode in and stole it from us. Thank you very much, Alexander the Not-So-Great.

  His hand reached out, traced the scars on my arm. I didn’t flinch; I’ve had plenty of practice. The skin was sensitive, and the brush of his fingertips was a caress.

  “Holy water?”

  “Good guess.”

  “Lucky it didn’t blind you.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.” Luck wasn’t the first word that came to mind when I thought about it.

  “How long ago?”

  “That’s a very personal question.”

  He grinned, and it was dazzling. Golden flecks of light seemed to dance around him. I could see where he’d got his name.

  “Yo
u’re Egyptian.”

  “Prize for the Greek.”

  “It’s your skin.” He slid the backs of his fingers up my throat, and I couldn’t repress a small shudder. “Like polished bronze. I haven’t seen skin like that in two thousand years.”

  “Ran away back to Greece?”

  He ignored that. “Those cheekbones are royal.”

  I nodded, a touch of pride straightening my back. “My family was high-born.”

  “Hmm.” That voice of his, oh, his voice. It was an audible caress, like dark chocolate, like silk, like hot, deep, breathtaking sex. His voice promised filthy things, and my body wanted very much to take him up on them.

  I debated whether or not I agreed with said body. I mean, I’d gotten all fired up this evening with the little slayer-boy. Fighting always made me either hungry or horny, and since I’d downed a bag of blood and a plate of cold pizza, I figured I’d be set for the night.

  But I hadn’t figured on Mr. Yummy Butt.

  His fingertips had arrived at my cheek now. The edge of the scar reached there, a smear of puckered, pink, acid-melted skin. The holy water had missed my eye by a fraction. Sometimes it itched. Sometimes it stung. All of the time it reminded me of what I was.

  I was an undead nightmare, a walking corpse, and I’d never asked for it.

  My eyes met his. I couldn’t call him Sekani. That wasn’t his real name, I was sure of it. I could smell a lie from fifty feet. But it seemed reasonably appropriate now. Close enough.

  Close enough.

  I wasn’t close enough.

  But I’d hardly moved an inch closer when his fingers tensed. His whole body just went still, like a big cat sensing prey.

  “What?” I breathed.

  “Woman’s just walked in with a stake -- don’t look -- under her coat.”

  “If it’s under --”

  “She held the door open, her coat gaped. Shit.”

  “I can handle her.”

  “You want to cause a scene in here?”

  “If the alternative is getting that stake between the shoulder blades, then yes.”

  His hand slid down my back to rest in just that place. His fingers touched the tattoo I had there, exposed completely by the low back of my halter-top. It was a cat’s head, honoring Bast, the goddess I’d most often prayed to as a human. She was a goddess of the sun, and maybe in a small part of me, I hoped she’d see my tribute to her and let me see the sun again.

  So far, she didn’t seem to be interested.

  Mr. Yummy Butt pulled me closer to him and I inhaled his hot, clean scent. He’d fed recently, or he wouldn’t be so warm. He felt almost human.

  I tried to resist the urge to lay my head against his lovely hard chest and snuggle. You’ve no idea how difficult it was.

  “What’s she doing?” I asked.

  He caressed my back, making me shiver. “Looking around. Don’t turn your head.”

  “I can’t see her.”

  “It’s okay. I can.” His fingers dipped under the edge of my leather top. Half a centimeter more and he’d be touching my breast.

  I ought to have minded, but -- well. You should see this guy. Especially from behind.

  “Put your head on my chest,” he said.

  “What?” My voice sounded unflatteringly high.

  “Put your head on my chest. Make her think we’re lovers.”

  “For what possible purpose?”

  “She might not notice us.”

  “Oh, that’s such a load of --”

  His hand closed around my breast, and the words got stuck in my throat.

  “She’s looking at us,” he murmured urgently. “Kiss me.”

  “Wh-mmph!”

  I didn’t get chance to say any more because his mouth suddenly locked with mine, his lips hot and clever and every bit as soft as they’d looked the first time I set eyes on them. His tongue flickered over my teeth and I felt my fangs flex. Whoa. Long time since I’d kissed anyone who could make my teeth come out like that. The noise of the bar faded and my arms slid around his hard, warm body, feeling rather wonderful muscles flexing under his shirt.

  Through the press of leather, I felt something stirring in his groin. And it was a pretty impressive something, too.

  My eyes flickered closed, open, closed, and I was about to let my lids sink downwards for a while longer when I saw a flash of movement reflected in his dark shades. The woman was behind us, stake raised, and before I’d even had time to think I’d whirled on her, arm raised to knock the stake away.

  I guess I was a little overenthusiastic. My head was still buzzing from that kiss, and as I flew around I, er, accidentally hit the wrong person.

  Mr. Yummy Butt’s girlfriend from earlier in the evening.

  I heard her arm snap.

  Instantly she started screaming, her arm hanging loose, and I winced. More at the noise than the damage I’d done to her. The woman with the stake, a tall brunette, vanished into the crowds, and I hesitated for just a second.

  “Masika!” came Willie’s voice. “Stop beating up my patrons!”

  Crap. I glanced at the girl, then at the man who’d distracted me into hurting her, and figured she was his responsibility. I shoved through the crowd of gawkers who’d all turned toward us, and tried to get a sense lock on the brunette.

  She was up ahead, outside, on her way down the street.

  I hurtled after her, and vaguely became aware of someone following me. A certain someone in black leather and shades -- shades in the middle of the night, for Bast’s sake -- erupted from the bar and chased alongside me.

  “Shouldn’t you be looking after your girlfriend?” I snapped.

  “Willie’s got her. Need to catch that --” His pretty head swung north. “She’s up here.”

  He didn’t need to tell me. I was already turning up the little alley, the kind that London is full of, and ducking under the low beams of the building above. Stupid Londoners. I was here when these buildings were built, and people weren’t any shorter.

  She was in the courtyard beyond, just about to turn a corner and disappear again. I sprinted faster, grabbed a knife as I ran, and spun it toward her.

  She saw it, or heard it -- either way she ducked, went into a roll, and came up facing us. I was running too fast, had too much momentum going to stop, and I hit her with a force that toppled us both.

  I had a second knife in my hand. She had a stake.

  I slashed at her, bringing blood to her cheek. She stabbed at me, but she missed. Ripped my leather, though.

  “Bitch!” I cried, and flung her to her back.

  The stake pierced the leather a second time, but this time it was right against my heart.

  I stopped dead with about half a centimetre between me and eternal death. For a long second my eyes met hers. My heart was pumping, her stake was between my breasts, her blood welled hot and sweet on her face. I could have licked it, could have drunk it, could have drained her dry and she’d never be able to hurt me.

  Then something grabbed me by the shoulders and yanked me upright, and the brunette flipped to her feet.

  She hissed at me like a cat, twirled the stake in her hands, and vanished into the darkness.

  I stood there panting, the smell of her blood still sharp and sweet in my nostrils, and quickly became aware that there was a hot, hard male body pressed against my back. A very hard male body.

  “Could have had her,” I said, breathing hard.

  I heard him swallow. “She nearly had you.”

  “I’ve come closer than that.” All this tension. I was pumped full of adrenaline. I’d been ready for a fight, a kill, some blood -- and now I was standing here in a pretty little private courtyard with moonlight dappling the cobbles, and a really hot, hard, sexy man behind me. My fangs were out. I needed release.

  I swung around and felt the press of his body against my breasts.

  “You know, fighting always does two things to me,” I said, worming my arms around his
neck.

  “Makes me hungry,” he murmured, his hand sliding over my bare back again, making me shiver.

  “Me too.” I nipped at his throat, tasted the salt on his skin. His pulse thudded in his throat.

  “And horny.”

  I licked his neck, pressed my body against his. “Me too.”

  His other hand slid down to mold the leather against my buttocks. The movement brought me closer to him, ground me against the hard bulge in his own leathers.

  “My place isn’t far from here,” I breathed.

  “Mine is closer.”

  My eyes met his, and then in a heartbeat we were falling against each other, mouths meeting in another hot, dark kiss, fangs scraping, tongues plunging.

  “How far?” I breathed hard.

  “Too far,” he said, and then we were falling, stumbling, and it was only by chance we hit the nearest wall. The cold stone against my back made me hiss; the heat burning through the leather to my breasts made me moan.

  “Your name,” I said against his mouth as we fell. “I still need to hear it.”

  His hands tugged at the buckles holding my top in place. “You have heard it.”

  “Your real name.”

  He gave me a brief grin as the leather fell from my skin, and my breasts filled his hands. Heat and promise spread through me with each movement of his long fingers against my flesh. In the cool darkness of this deserted square, this stranger held my breasts in his hands and stroked them until I lost my breath.

  “My friends call me Dare.”

  “And what do I call you?”

  He grinned. “Call me a wanton sex god, anything you like. Just get those leathers off.”

  I swung him against the railing of a townhouse stoop and licked into his mouth, sliding one leg around his waist, feeling the heat of him burn me through my clothes.

  I drew back for breath -- yes, I breathe, get used to it -- looking down at the sprawl of muscle and grace between my thighs. Hmm. He was lacking a little something.

  Nudity. That was it.

  His T-shirt came off in pieces. I hardly noticed it. I was working on the fly of his leathers when he bent me back and sucked my nipple into his mouth. That gave me pause while I reeled my mind back in, and then Dare had me back against the wall, covering me entirely with his big body, his bare chest rubbing me in delightful places as he kissed me again, his fangs pressing mine, his tongue plunging into my mouth in ferocious mimicry of what I really wanted.