Seduce the Darkness (Alien Huntress #4)(33)
Author: Gena Showalter

"Not without me." No way was Dallas going to let Devyn go down for this. Because Devyn was an otherworlder, he didn’t have the same rights as Dallas. If necessary, he’d take total blame. Most they’d do to him was slap his wrists. They could send Devyn away, kick him out of AIR, or even execute him. "Anyone see you?"

"Probably."

What would it take to actually ruffle Devyn’s feathers? Something catastrophic, surely. "So why the hell’d you leave his head outside for anyone to find?"

"It was a message."

He arched a brow. "And that would be that Devyn of the Targons is a psycho?" Devyn laughed. "No. Mess with Bride and suffer."

Now Dallas’s brow furrowed in question. "You into her or something? I mean, really into her?" Devyn loved and left his women like they were no more important than a fast-food meal. To him, they weren’t.

Devyn’s gaze sharpened, a play of emotions flashing through those amber depths. Readable emotions. Lust, tenderness, anger, disbelief. "For now. She’ll lose her appeal soon enough."

Oh, oh, oh. What was this? Finally, a reaction. And over a woman. Inconceivable. Odd as it was, though, it wouldn’t last; it couldn’t. Still. This just wasn’t Devyn’s style.

A frightening thought suddenly occurred to Dallas. When Bride lost her appeal and Devyn dropped her— Devyn always dropped the women, they never dropped him—would she wallow in fury?

Entertain thoughts of revenge? Would she pay someone to hurt him? Stab him at the pier?

He drained the rest of his coffee. "Well, like I was saying about the visions … I had two. And the second one involved you, the female, and a knife through your heart."

CHAPTER 10

As the first rays of sunlight glowed from the sky, Bride entered her apartment, quietly closed the door, and pressed the lock pad, engaging the ID scan on the outside. She rested her forehead against the cool metal, her eyes closed, breathing deeply, in and out, in and out. Her stomach was twisted with renewed hunger, her mouth dry. She was shaky, tired.

In the background, the TV hummed softly. The air was as clean and sterile as always, the purifiers she used running at top speed. The only scent she detected was … apples?

Her brow wrinkled, and she drew in another breath, holding it while she studied the aroma. Sure enough. Apples. She hadn’t smelled them in more than sixty or so years, but she’d never forgotten their sweetness.

Once, she’d been casing a neighborhood, trying to decide which house to rob. The war had not yet erupted, and the world had been a different place. Trees had been lush, real fruit available for purchase on every street corner. And cheap, God, had they been cheap. The pennies she’d stolen from her foster parents had been enough to buy all the apples she’d wanted. Not to eat but to smell. She’d even dabbed the juice on herself, her own version of perfume.

Would have been a perfect memory if not for the taint of the foster parents. Ugh. Demons in human skin, that’s what they’d been. The authorities had plucked her off the streets, placed her in the system. She’d looked about thirteen years old—no telling how old she’d really been, though—with a "sun allergy," so no one had wanted to adopt her. She’d bounced from home to home, her refusal to eat earning her doctor visits and sometimes force-feedings that caused her to puke her guts out.

Only once had she been caught drinking blood, and it had earned her the beating of a lifetime. If she’d been human, she would have died from it. The couple responsible had called her "unholy,” “evil," and "perverted."

She was taken away from them and moved to her final foster home. Sadly, the one before had not been the worst. The husband, her "caregiver," had snuck into her room one night, holding her down, intending to rape her.

Before he’d even removed her PJs, out had come her fangs, and she’d drained him dry. It was the first killing she’d ever enjoyed. No telling how many other innocent children he’d hurt. But much as she’d been proud, happy with her actions, she’d also been scared. She would be deemed a murderer, probably sent to jail. So she’d run, and once again the streets had become her home.

Then the otherworlders had begun arriving, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Panic had spread far and wide, and her crime had been forgotten. As a "human," she belonged; she was someone to protect, no matter her past.

No human had left home without a weapon of some sort, and Bride had watched innocent otherworlder after innocent otherworlder gunned down. But what no one had known was that some humanoid races had been here a while and had already integrated themselves into society. They’d taken exception to the murders of their brethren and started fighting back.

What terrible, dark years those had been. Hardly anyone had had a home; they’d all been destroyed in fires, raids, and bombings. Money hadn’t mattered; there’d been nothing to buy. Not everyone had been equipped for such a life, and some had died from the elements. The too-cold winters, the too hot summers. Bride had spent years living that way and had thrived.

When a treaty was reached between the species, rebuilding happened fast, humans and otherworlders working together. Not fully trusting each other—that might not ever happen—but using each other’s skills and resources to get the job done.

"You going to stand there all morning?"

Slowly she turned, facing the cell. Nolan stood at the bars, his fingers tight around the metal, a grin on his beautiful face. Her jaw dropped in shock. Yes, he was beautiful. His skin was tan, no hint of gray, no sores. And he glowed. His cheeks had filled out and were no longer sunken. His eyes were bright, like shining silver stars.

That apple scent wafted from him. With the realization, a tempting question drifted through her mind: if he smelled like apples, how delicious would he taste? Her gums actually throbbed as her fangs lengthened, sharpened. She was halfway to the cage before she caught herself. He’s diseased. You can’t drink him.

Maybe I could. I’ve never been sick. Not worth the risk, remember?

Damn it! Another vampire would have known whether or not she could catch such an illness. Most movies and books claimed it was impossible. They also claimed vampires exploded in the sun, and she never had. So what was fact and what was fiction?

"I’m alone all night, bored out of my mind, dripping with energy, and finally you show up but you won’t say a word." There was a pout to his voice now. "This is a new form of torture, right?"

Bride found her voice, forcing the words past a slightly swollen tongue. "You look good." Understatement of the year. His beauty actually rivaled Devyn’s, though he didn’t make her heart race.