Sweet Ruin (Immortals After Dark 16)

Whoa. Sharing blood through a kiss? Stutter-step. She’d never fantasized about that before. Her fangs had always remained dormant during hook-ups.

Damn, that image was filthy hot. Instant wettie.

She needed to get hold of herself. Just as her emotions could make her embody, she could accidentally ghost as well, and Rune might still be watching her.

The lady-killer had wanted to know her name. He’d wanted to screw her, lining her up and knocking her down like the nymphs. He’d wanted a connection to her, however brief.

She’d craved a connection too.

So she’d stolen the contents of his pocket, one rectangular object. When she turned the corner, she opened her palm, peeking at her take. It was some kind of etched bone.

How weird. He must value it for some reason. Not as good as the “priceless” bow she’d eyed, but she’d have to make do.

Would he notice his empty pocket soon? She grinned. How pissed would he be that a dove had rolled him?

Her grin faded. Aside from her name and her body, he’d wanted her truth.

I could contact my little brother at any time, barging into his can’t-possibly-get-better life, and he’d welcome me with open arms. No damage done to my boy at all. For now, I’m fine. I’m not slowly dying of loneliness. I don’t fear I’ll float away. I don’t regret that no one will even know I’m gone.

Her truths were all lies.

She reached for her necklace. You can never go back for him.

Never. Never. Never.

So why did she continue to look for excuses to do just that?

She was antsy, not ready to return “home” to her dingy room at the Big Easy Sleeps motel (known to regulars as the Big Sleazy Weeps).

She needed a hit of her favorite drug. Just a little one. Her eyes darted. Suppliers. She needed suppliers—

There! A middle-aged couple strolling hand-in-hand.

Perfect. She ghosted into the woman, relaxing to flow with her. Boneless. Effortless. Like floating in water.

Jo imagined she could feel the man’s rough hand, the warmth coming off his body. She pretended she was the one he loved.

The two walked along in silence, but the vibes between them weren’t awkward or strained, just . . . peaceful.

She inwardly sighed. People took the wonder of hand holding for granted.

Down by the river, the couple sat on a bench. Stars twinkled above, a half moon low over the water. Strains of jazz carried on the breeze.

The man took his hand away. No—

Only to wrap his arm around his woman. He tugged her close. Bliss. They murmured in a foreign language, but Jo didn’t need to understand it. Whatever he said made the woman rest her head on his shoulder, as she’d probably done a thousand times before. They leaned back and gazed at the stars.

Jo’s past was a mystery, and she sometimes sensed the stars held the answers. She loved to stargaze. Well, she did for the first ten or so minutes. Then the realization of her friendlessness would steal over her. Stargazing for one had to be the loneliest hobby.

Now she had company. This couple.

For what might have been hours, they remained like that, lost in their own little world as a mist rolled in from the Mississippi.

No one had ever cherished Jo. No parents, no boyfriend. All on her own, she’d discovered how much she craved this: an unbreakable bond between two people.

Love and a future she could count on.

She was a killer with blood on her hands, but she wanted to give her heart away. As these two had. They were partners, two halves of a greater whole. Jo yearned for her other half with all the desperation of someone who’d always known something was missing.

She soaked up the feelings between these two like a sponge. Maybe she was a love junkie.

Yet pretending wasn’t as good as the real thing.

Recalling the warmth of Rune’s body affected her. When she imagined sharing a blood kiss with him, she feared she’d solidify inside the woman, killing her. She swiftly disentangled.

As Jo looked on, the woman shivered, so her man drew her closer.

Jo sighed. If she had someone real of her own, he would hold her like that. He’d own her heart, and that would anchor her to him.

He’d never let her float away.

SEVEN

Expectancy.

As Rune hunted for Nïx along the most decadent street in the town of New Orleans, anticipation thrummed inside him, seeming to grow like the thickening fog.

Why? He was on a routine mission, one among thousands.

For hours he’d searched, questioning low creatures and staring down alphas of other species.

Maybe he craved a fight. He hadn’t been raised as a frontline warrior, but he’d come to enjoy a good battle with his fellow Møriør.

They warred seamlessly together. Sian would charge into the fray to massacre troops with his mighty battle-ax. Blace would use his great-sword and unmatched skill to behead waves of warriors.

Rune’s “bonedeath” arrow would explode into reverberations so violent the bones of their foes would disintegrate, never to be healed.

Darach would already have sped behind the army to track down and maul any who fled.

Allixta created shields and neutralized others’ magicks. Rune supposed her talent would be helpful if the Møriør ever faced a worthy adversary. For now, the tart looked decent in a hat.

Orion amplified all their strengths and directed them to their enemies’ vulnerabilities.

The Møriør who still slept? Well, the weakest one could consume a city.

When Orion and the Møriør offered opposition the chance to surrender, they accepted. Or died. . . .

This anticipation Rune felt could not be about the voyeur. She’d held his interest only because she was a rarity—no, a singularity.