Blood Cure (Blood Type 3)

Now Harrington was using it in his feeding camps to build up his army. Ugh! She was going to be sick. Reyna covered her mouth and turned away.

“How does it work?” Beckham asked.

“One vial per human. It’s injected into the blood system essentially nulling the blood type and creating a sort of universal host,” Graves explained. “It lasts the length of time it takes to replenish the blood. Typically, every fifty-six days, but with the vampire saliva, twice a week.”

Reyna saw all of their potential plans unravel with the appearance of that one tiny vial. Jodie wasn’t important. Reyna wasn’t important. There was no reason that Harrington wouldn’t just drain her and dump her. No reason at all. He had no weakness.

Graves passed the small vial into Beckham’s hand. “Because I’m feeling generous.”

Beckham hastily pocketed it. Neither of them cared how he’d acquired it. Just that they had it to take back.

“And as for where Harrington is holed up, I’d start trusting your enemies.”

“What does that mean?” Beckham asked.

“Don’t you mean which one?” Reyna drawled in annoyance. She hated that he was being purposely obscure. They had a lot of enemies. He could narrow down the list for them.

“Start at the top of your list and work your way down,” Graves said, and slid his hands back into his pockets. “Now, it’s been my pleasure to host you for the evening. I will have Edgar escort you out.”

Then just as easily as he’d walked in, he disappeared through the massive double doors.

Reyna met Beckham’s gaze and lifted one shoulder. What the hell had they walked into?

Edgar entered the room almost immediately. “This way, please.”

They walked in a daze back through Graves’ unbelievable house, retrieved their coats from the closet, and were hastily pushed into the elevator. It dinged onto the bottom floor in record time. The driver gave them back their hoods and they tugged them on once they were safely seated back in the limo.

As soon as they left Graves’ house, she had the distinct feeling she’d just dreamed the entire thing. It couldn’t possibly have been real. It felt too unbelievable to even contemplate. And she didn’t know what the fuck he was. Because he made it quite clear that he wasn’t a vampire or a human. He didn’t seem to like either group much. Whatever he was…it was powerful. That was for damn sure.

“What do you think he is?” she finally whispered into the silent limo.

“A bloody bastard.”

“Well…yes. That much is obvious. But he’s powerful.”

Beckham’s hand landed on her thigh. “I don’t give a fuck what he is.” His hand moved up higher and higher. “Or care to hear you talk about how powerful he is.”

“Jealous?” she breathed.

“Infuriated.”

He pressed her knee out wider and then wider still until she was spread open for him. His fingers continued up to the apex of her thighs, parting her lips and slicking through her wetness. She’d been hot all evening. On fire since the moment Beckham had seen her in her dress. and everything had only intensified through the night. Her body reacted instantly to his touch as he swirled a finger around her clit until she was quivering beneath his skilled hands.

Heedless of consequences, Beckham tugged both hoods off of their heads and slammed their lips together. There was nothing gentle in his touch. Just claiming her body as his own. Just taking what already belonged to him and reminding her exactly where she belonged.

The tension had been palpable when they’d been in Graves’ mansion. He’d tested their limits. Pushed them beyond what they had even known they were capable of. He might be a manipulative, arrogant, conceited asshole, but he’d played them like a fiddle. And now they both wanted to erase the memory with the feel of each other’s body.

Beckham rocked her flat against the seat, splaying her out long. He hastily unbuckled his tuxedo pants and took his cock in his hand. A hand in her hair, lips melded together, bodies a furnace every place they touched, then his cock pressing against her waiting opening.

She gasped into his mouth. “Yes.”

He thrust to the hilt, burying himself inside of her. She threw her head back as he filled her to the brim. She’d been on the edge all night. God, she needed this. Needed him.

“Mine,” Beckham growled as he pulled out and pumped into her again.

She could sense that his anger about Graves had boiled over. The way she’d reacted to Graves. The way that Graves had forced her to react to him. Graves touching her. This was a fervor that both of them couldn’t seem to find release from. The need to belong to each other despite powerful circumstances threatening their relationship.

Beckham was possessive and protective. After what had happened, fucking her was how he showed it. What he needed. Fuck, what she needed.