I leaned forward. “That’s bugging me, too.”
Adam looked at me. “What?”
“Why is Abel so obsessed with Cain?”
We both looked at Erron for the answer. “I don’t know, but if I had to guess I’d say Cain probably caused some trouble in Abel’s life along the way. Isn’t that how all these stories start? Bad guy kills a man’s lover or family and that man turns into a vigilante?”
I sucked a deep breath in through my nose and leaned back. Releasing it slowly, I said, “I wish I could believe that was all true. But something tells me we haven’t seen the last of Cain.”
“Maybe not. But until there’s some reason to believe otherwise, why not relax a little?” Erron leaned back, cradling the Jim Beam like a security blanket. “Lavinia’s dead and the treaty is about to be signed. Even if Cain could somehow manage to escape Abel’s bonds without being noticed, he’ll still have a hell of a time trying to start a war now.”
I wished I could share Erron’s optimism. But my hands were clammy and a tickle at the base of my skull told me that letting my guard down would be a colossal mistake. I turned toward Adam, who looked pensive rather than skeptical. “What’s your gut saying?”
He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “That until Cain makes another move—if he makes one—there isn’t much we can do.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “All the leaders know what happened in New Orleans and are vigilantly working toward peace. They already rooted out any remaining Caste members they could find,” he said. “They even killed several human members of the Brotherhood of the Eastern Mystery for their involvement with the Caste in New Orleans. Even if Cain was really a threat, he’d have a tough time trying to start a war now. I vote we move on until there’s a concrete reason to worry.”
It all sounded so reasonable, but I couldn’t let down my guard that easily. “Does Abel have any plans beyond keeping Cain bound? I mean, they can’t keep him like that forever.”
Erron shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. But he’s a mage and mages live for a long time.” He rubbed his wound absently. “Most of them do, anyway.”
“I’d feel a lot better if I could talk to this Abel myself.”
Erron smiled tightly. “Sabina, I understand your concerns, but I have as much—if not more—reason to want Cain out of the picture. He killed my old band and, before that, he almost killed Ziggy and left him permanently deaf. I’ve looked into Cain’s face and seen the murder in his cold green eyes. If I had any reason to believe that sadistic bastard could get to me or anyone I gave a shit about, I’d tell you.”
I sighed and leaned back into the cushions. For all his strange fetishes and his angry music, Erron was a good guy. I knew I could trust him. He’d proven himself more than once in New Orleans. But my stomach clenched anyway. Why was letting go so tough?
“If you hear anything new from Abel you let me know ASAP.”
“Of course,” he said. “If it’s any consolation I understand how hard it is to relax. When you’ve spent so long waiting for an attack, it’s hard to believe you’re finally safe.”
I swallowed the knot of emotion in my throat. His words conveyed what I was feeling exactly. “I guess I do need some practice with optimism.”
“It just so happens I know the perfect way to start doing just that,” Erron said. “How about we all go join the party?”
I grimaced. “No offense, but I’ve seen what you call a party. Not exactly my scene.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Giguhl said from the doorway. “Give her five minutes in there and she’ll be snorting coke off a whore’s ass, too.”
We all turned to see the demon cat cradled in the midget’s arms. “Come on, you guys,” he said, nestling into Goldie’s tiny bosom. “MC Macabre is about to show everyone how he can blow himself.”
Adam squinted at the demon. “Are you drunk?”
The cat hiccupped. “Don’t be ridiskulous.” He giggled.
“Where are Georgia and Pussy Willow?” I asked.
“The lady boy’s trading fashion secrets with the groupies,” Goldie said. “And the vampire has cornered Ziggy to tell him all about her problems with the werewolf. She’s so drunk she doesn’t realize he’s deaf.”
I frowned. “Georgia drunk?”“Relax.” Giguhl waved a paw. “She deserves to let loose a little.”
“We’ll round them up on our way out,” I said.
I took Giguhl from Goldie. Loud music and laughter filtered into the room from down the hall. The party must have been picking up steam. Giguhl squirmed in my arms and rose to put his paws on my shoulder so he could look me in the eyes. “I wanna stay.” His breath reeked of whisky fumes.
“How will you get home?” I didn’t want Giguhl getting trapped in the middle of a groupie orgy in cat form. Not that he’d mind. But he also couldn’t exactly ride the subway home. And from the sound of things, Pussy Willow and Georgia weren’t in any state to navigate the city.
Erron shrugged and said, “I can have a car take them home later. It’s no problem.”
I shrugged. “Fine by me.” I didn’t argue for two reasons. One, he might be my minion, but I wasn’t Giguhl’s mother, thank the gods. And two, I wouldn’t mind an evening without all our guests underfoot. Adam and I could definitely use some time to ourselves. I glanced at the mancy and raised a brow. A slow, promising smile spread across his lips. He was thinking the same thing.
Adam stood and went to shake Erron’s hand. “Will you be in town long?”
“Leaving tomorrow morning. I’m gonna hit New Orleans for some R&R.”
I approached Erron and gave him a big hug. “Thanks for everything. I know you didn’t want to be involved in any of this.”
He gave me a quick squeeze. “My pleasure. Just promise me you’ll try to relax. You deserve to let loose, too.”
I pulled back and smiled. From the corner of my eye, I saw Adam waiting impatiently to get me home. Alone. “You know what?” I winked at Erron. “You might be right.”
I surrendered Giguhl to the ground and went to join the mancy. Just before the magic rose and we poofed out of there, I shot a look at Giguhl, a silent reminder to behave himself. Two seconds later, Adam and I were back in the apartment and all thoughts of Cain, the Recreant, and our drunk friends disappeared.
18
Not wanting to waste any time, the mancy flashed us back to our bedroom, instead of the living areas. The apartment’s silence enveloped us. The windows overlooking Central Park cast gray shadows across the wooden floors and bed.
Adam and I stared at each other, not quite trusting that we were alone. After weeks, maybe months, of never having the place to ourselves, the rare privacy felt decadent.
“Finally,” Adam breathed, “I have you all to myself.”
I smiled an impish smile. “Whatever will you do with me?”
Instead of telling me, he showed me. With his mouth on mine, with his hands. Instead of the feverish quickies we’d gotten used to sneaking in around Giguhl’s schedule, we took it slow, savoring the rare luxury of time.
As he kissed me, he urged me back toward the bed. His hands were busy removing my shirt, unbuttoning my jeans. Mine were busy exploring the hard planes of his chest, teasing the ridges of his stomach under his shirt.
The backs of my knees bumped the mattress. I lowered myself slowly, not wanting to break the connection. He followed, his tongue exploring mine.
I ran a teasing finger along his waistband, dipping the tip lower to brush over his Hekate’s Wheel birthmark. I unbuttoned the top snap of his jeans and placed my lips there, savoring the way his muscles jumped under my mouth.
Adam’s fingers were busy, too. Soon, my bra joined the tank top on the floor and he lowered his head to lavish my breasts with his own form of worship. He grabbed my hands, held them over my head in playful bondage. But soon, the pull of his hot mouth against my sensitive skin had me writhing, yearning to touch him, too.
He pulled away only to allow me to lift his shirt over his head. As he returned for more, I ran my hands over his broad shoulders, enjoying the way his muscles danced. I wanted to push him over and climb atop him. To let my hands explore his skin while I watched his eyes glaze over with passion. But I knew better than to try to take control. Ever since New Orleans, he’d been skittish about the slightest bit of sexual dominance from me. It would be too easy to indulge my bloodlust if I had him pinned to the mattress.
Instead, I took his face and pulled him up for another kiss. While our tongues tangled, his fingers slid down my stomach, dipping into my navel, before continuing south. He caressed me gently at first, then faster, firmer. I pushed my hips toward him, needing more than his finger inside me. He recognized the signal and pulled back so I could help him out of his jeans. His sex sprang forward, eager for my touch. I wrapped my hand around the heat and guided it home.
The first thrust forced groans from both our throats. He bent over me, entering me with both his tongue and his sex. The dual sensations sparked a new need in me. One I knew better than to indulge. I pulled my mouth from his and bit my lip. He didn’t seem to notice the withdrawal. Instead, he pushed up on his arms and thrust deeper, harder. Each movement brought me closer to the edge of both pleasure and pain. The pleasure of release. The pain of self-denial.
The need to taste his blood grew until my head rocked restlessly on the mattress. My fangs cut deep into my bottom lip. The taste of my own blood bloomed on my tongue. But it wasn’t enough. The hunger would never be satisfied with anything less than Adam’s sweet blood.
But the refusal to indulge my hunger heightened my other senses. The feel of pressure building in my core. The smell of Adam’s sandalwood and hot male scent. The sight of Adam’s face flushed and determined to bring us both to release. The sound of his panting breaths mingled with my moans.