As I seated the Benelli in its new Kydex holster, my door opened and Bruiser entered, shutting the door behind him. Without looking at me, he dropped a satchel on my bed, dumped out his old Enforcer gear, and stripped. It wasn’t pole-dancer erotic, just economical and efficient. Jacket, shirt, shoes, socks, pants, undershirt, folded and placed carefully on the bed. He left his boxer briefs on. The lights and shadows touched his body like living marble, like David under the hands of Michelangelo. Good lord.
Chest hair tapered to his waistband. Pecs to die for. A six-pack that needed no makeup or special lighting. Or even posing. Just there.
He bent over the bed and spread out the leathers and weapons. A small birthmark peeked out, high on his inner thigh, shaped like a jagged scar or a bolt of lightning—which was coincidence for sure—so pale it didn’t show in most light, and I hadn’t noticed until recently. I could see it perfectly just now. I’d bitten that mark the other day. Playfully. Very playfully. Heat zinged through me at the memory.
If I still had my cell I’d have taken a dozen shots as he moved. I might have moaned a little. His lips widened. He knew I was watching. His scent warmed, changing from the citrusy scent of his cologne to the heat of Onorio in a heartbeat, more like caramel and heated brown sugar, with a hint of something spicy. He looked up at me, his eyes nearly closed, as if he too was thinking about that last time we were able to take off a day and play.
Mate, Beast purred.
“Oh yeah. Definitely,” I said aloud.
Bruiser slid into the leather pants, his looser on his frame than mine on me, his pockets bulging with gear. He didn’t zip up, his leathers open hanging on his hips, his black boxer briefs perfectly exposed and uh, bulging with gear of a completely different sort. He stood, his jacket held by one finger, his chest bare, and slanted a look at me. “You’re not making this any easier.”
“Huh? Oh.”
“We could just stay here and let the security team handle the twice-risen undead.”
“We could. Probably should,” I agreed, still staring. His muscles had been sculpted by fighting and a judicious lifting of weights. His body was beautiful, not something I had realized the first time I met him. I’d just thought he was a blood-meal and sex partner to Leo who also was Leo’s knee-capping muscle.
Thanks to vamp blood he was scar-free, except for two very pale bullet scars on his chest. I was pretty sure he should have died from them, but drinking vamp blood has its perks.
“If you keep looking at me like that I’ll never get my leathers on.”
I flashed him a cheeky grin, walked to the door, and opened it a crack. Blocked the view both ways with my body. Over my shoulder I said, “Pretty sure you need a cold shower to get the pants zipped now.” I slipped out, hearing his chuckle. “Showoff,” I said through the door.
“Ready?” Eli asked.
He was decked out in leathers too, despite the fact that when we first met he had declared he’d never wear them. Once he’d seen how well mine protected me from injury, he had changed his mind. I had picked up my stakes on the way out and stuck silver ones in my fighting queue.
Outside a car flashed its lights. The limo, idling. A horn blew from down the street. Then two more. Then longer and more strident.
My door opened and Bruiser walked out, his boots silent on the wood flooring. He crossed the space to me, encircled my waist with one arm, and yanked me to him. He kissed me. Hard. Demanding. Plundering. He bent me back. A tango dance move that put all the important parts in very, very close proximity. Heat blossomed through me like bombs going off. And I had no doubt that if we didn’t have an emergency, we’d be in my bed right now.
I gripped his shoulders and kissed him back. And again my throat made that sound, that almost-moan that I couldn’t keep silent.
Bruiser broke away but held me bent over, all my weight on his one arm. “I know,” he said to the others, his eyes spearing me. “Get a room.” He whirled me upright and opened the door. Strode out into the dark and the rain. Eli cursed and followed.
I followed too, but quite happily. Now I knew what other women meant when they said a kiss left them floating. I was sure my boot soles were landing about six inches off the ground. I slid inside the limo, the door closed, and Shemmy sped off, me holding on to the emergency strap.
? ? ?
We reached St. Louis Cemetery Number One just as darkest night fell and the heavens opened up again. We got out at the corner of St. Louis and Basin Streets and raced to the nearest entrance. The deluge was stunning, the water beating down on us heavy and pounding. It already stood an inch on the sidewalks, falling too fast to run off.
Metal screeched and clanged—old iron being wrenched and torn. A gate flew at us and we all ducked. The revenant walked out of the entrance, holding something. A human leg, which he lifted and started eating. Lightning flashed and boomed, close by, thunder rolling. But my energies stayed put, stable. Beast shoved her way to the forefront of my brain, her vision turning the world silver and gray and sharp green.
Bruiser pulled his sword and took off the revenant’s head in one clean sweep. He was good. He had been Leo’s Enforcer once and he had over a hundred years to master La Destreza. The revenant fell and Bruiser kicked the parts in different directions, striding into the unlit cemetery. I didn’t know if it was always unlighted or if the storm had put the electricity out in a different part of the city. But watching him move through the rain in wet-streaked leathers was an erotic exercise all on its own. Holy crap.
St. Louis Cemetery was the oldest in New Orleans, containing the first bodies laid to rest in the 1700s, all aboveground. Statues adorned many of the mausoleums. Angels and crosses were everywhere. Stone children. The savior with arms outstretched, Jesus on the cross, the statue defaced, his legs broken off. Iron gates keeping back the riffraff from the tombs of the wealthy, vault doors bricked and cemented over. Carrara marble. Plaster. One tomb painted blue. Xs in red paint on others.
Red flowers spun into the air, lifted by a sudden wind, and then were knocked to the ground. It was gusting and frigid, forcing the rain beneath my collar to stream down my spine. Palm trees lashed the night, branches flying.
The voodoo priestess Marie Laveau was reputed to be buried in the cemetery, but really, who would know if she had even died. I had never asked if she had been turned, taken another name, and lived as a vamp today. It was possible.
Over the smell of the rain, I caught the scent of fresh human blood and bowels released. Vomit and urine. The sharp tang of fear and despair. And the older stink of revenant. I pulled my vamp-killers, turning my head at each small space between mausoleums, waiting for attack.