lips. His own tongue curled up in his mouth wanting to shout for her
to go faster. God she was killing him.
Yes, the glass was moving in an arc that culminated in her lips.
What were her teeth like? Would she make him wonder by barely
parting her lips? Damn, she was a tease. The rim of the glass glided
past the pout of her lower lip, and her head tilted ever so slightly back.
This woman would make a killing on Madison Avenue. Those lips
alone could sell vodka to someone allergic to alcohol.
And touch down. Cup lowered, he watched her throat for signs of a
swallow. God, she was savoring the taste, moving it around in her
mouth. Her jaws moved side to side as if saying 'no' to him.
God damn it swallow. And there it was, going down. How far
down did her throat go? How much could she take without gagging?
Closing his eyes to rid himself of the thought, he missed the final
descent of the liquid churning past her esophagus and heading down
to the stomach held in by the tightness of her skirt.
12
His eyes opened with a snap. How much had his meditation cost
him? Ah, good. She was putting the cup down, and a little sloshed
over the side of the rim and beaded down the fluted sides to pool on
the tray. Her head bobbed, eye lids closing while she slid down into
the seat, collapsing in a heap, head against her knees.
Blood had spoken and vindication was his. No one would question
him ever again after a few weeks. He'd pegged her from the first sniff
in Rome and all the shadowing and wrangling to get this gig was pay
dirt. Constantine arched his neck back and howled, sound-proof cars
rocked as did tinted glass. Humans did have some usefulness with
their inventions and he'd let some live. But they really had to do
something about L.A.
Crunching the gearshift into drive, he careened out of the cul-de-sac
and let other driver's yield to him as he merged with traffic. A flick of
his eyes showed a very lovely woman had fallen sideways in the back
of his car. Saliva ran down the sides of his fangs, and he wiped the
liquid residue that didn't get swallowed back onto his sleeve.
Game time.
13
CHAPTER TWO
Constantine glided into the garage and killed the engine as the
automatic door creaked on its descent, shutting out the last putrid rays
of sun. Dry heaves, building up since waiting for her outside,
wracked his body. Now in safety, he let his body go into convulsions.
Acid welled up in his mouth, and he kicked his door open to spit out
the remnants of burnt stomach contents onto the pavement.
Steam billowed up from what he had regurgitated, filling the
blessed darkness with a stench that he loathed. But she was worth it.
She had to be worth it. His body ached too much when she was near
for this to be a worthless lark that would erase his name from the list
of contenders.
Cold chills swirled into the heat skimming down his spine, ending
in a riot of pinpricks going into his groin. No, she was the right one
for him ... if, if she could be turned and if she survived the turning.
And if no one back stabbed him or tried to annihilate him in the
process. So many ifs.
Footsteps approached, cadence alerting him to Jason's presence
even before the inner door opened bringing in candle light and the
held back dead air the warehouse had filled with since the last
carcasses were crated off for human consumption. He didn't bother
looking up with the drool still dripping from his lips and etching into
the concrete with a mixture of blood diluted acid.
A water bottle materialized before his bone dry eyes. "Drink.
There are electrolytes in it to replenish your blood and get the taste
out of your mouth." Jason unscrewed the top and held the bottle
against Constantine's lips until fingers grasped it.
Constantine took a long swig, pushing whatever still wanted to
evacuate back down into his stomach to find another way out of his
body. "Thanks."
"The guys are inside, handpicked to be the least likely to disobey."
He held the driver's door open so Constantine could slowly get to his
14
"Nice choice of words." Constantine gripped the top of the door and
lumbered to a standing position. Damn cars never had enough
shielding and fuck L.A. for not allowing the front window to be fully
tinted. What about driver rights?
"They're American. What can I say? You deserving their
allegiance hasn't been proven to them. You wanted this mission secret
so I had to pull from local muscle. And L.A. doesn't lead to the best
of the species. Only losers would get this as their range." Jason
moved away from the door so Constantine could shake himself.
Constantine twisted his arms side to side by the elbows to get his
spine to expel pent up heat and shook his long hair; the webbing
between his long spindly fingers sweating off the remnants of
poisonous sun. He opened his mouth and sucked the cooler air
through his front teeth and fangs, whistling with each inhalation.
"Should I be laughing at American Gangsters in a dilapidated meat
factory? There might even be a meat truck lurking around here."
Constantine slammed the door closed behind him. He never wanted
to step into another car during the daylight hours, Jesus.
"Thought you might appreciate the irony." Jason stood with his
hands clasped behind his back, head raised but eye lowered.
Constantine gave him a once over, far too perfect not to be reading
his mind on some level. No one read people this well without a little
help from the blood, the amount of planning free of hitches, the ideal
location, all masterly done with little of his own oversight leaving him
free to prowl and stalk the prey. There was no way this was all
because Jason was smart; there was something more at play.
One hurdle at a time, Jason wouldn't have a chance for quite a
while to show the true blood, and by then Jason would be entwined in
doing Constantine's work. Handled right, Jason could be made to feel
duty-bound to honor Constantine's help in moving up the ranks. And
that would be pay dirt if one day they had neighboring territories.
Also he would know Jason's proclivities inside and out.
Constantine ground his heels through the padding of the dress
shoes. Focus on the now; he had to stop being two or three steps
ahead of everyone else and think about the treat inside the car, candy
15
until it woke up and turned into a diabetic's worst nightmare. He
needed to act before her body neutralized the toxin and she became
the venomous biting snake he couldn't wait to torment onto the
defensive.
The bulge in his pants swelled, making him antsy. Time to get her
out of the car, there was no way she was a threat to him yet, he knew
that, but her nearness confused him, making him forget every few
breaths he was in control. If she could do this while unconscious,
what the hell would she be like raving mad and gnashing to bite
his
jugular if he stoked her blood in that direction?
He kicked the car to get himself moving forward and into gear.
"Constantine?"
Constantine could taste the confusion in Jason's exhalation. Fuck
that. Jason wasn't full-alpha yet. He was picking up on Constantine's
slowness, nothing more. "Den of iniquity ready?" He wasn't going to
answer to Jason's confusion or anyone else's, not even his own. It was
the damn L.A. sun causing his blood to get too hot and smog
contaminated.
"Add her to it and it is finished." Jason stayed where he was but his
eyebrow wrinkled up before resuming the straight line of
unquestioning submission.
Constantine stuffed his fingers under the latch and snapped them
upwards until the door clicked. He pushed the limousine door open
past its comfort zone and peered inside. So, gentle when asleep.
Anything could be done to her and she would never know. Her body
didn't have to submit, it was an open invitation with her brain offline.
His jaw pushed his teeth together. Bad boy, she needed to be
trussed up, then he could imagine all he wanted while watching her.
He bent down to get her legs and pulled her across the seat until he
could grasp her waist.
Pinching her waist with his hands, he lifted her into the air and
tossed her over his shoulder. Pores on his skin sucked her scent in
through the layers of clothing separating them, making him heady
from the sheer desire to rip her clothes off and see all he had in store
for him.
16
Purposely, he bent forward and hit his forehead against the car,
separating the knitting of his skin so a trace of blood remained on the
black shiny paint. His tongue came out and retrieved what he'd left
behind, recycling his own power back into him. The jolt cleared his
head. He backed up, ready to face Jason's look of consternation and
to ignore it.
Constantine marched forward savvy that Jason would get out of his
way. Her breasts pressed into his back with each inhalation, her
exhalations skimming over his back with the tangy smell permeating
his entire being. He couldn't prevent his mind from taking a small
tangential moment to imagine his own lips sealed over hers, taking her
breath from her.
The image made his lips part, but he forced them closed and made
it abundantly clear that his goals overrode any lustful interactions
unless she turned. And if she didn't, well he wasn't a necromancer and
had no interest in lifeless bodies when the blood no longer roamed
freely but rather turned to sludge.
He hoped for both their sakes she wouldn't make him take that
route. Joe Smith would appreciate it too, since he was the patsy for
the murder charges as the mover behind the kidnapping.
As Constantine foresaw, Jason moved backwards and turned to lead
him to the lair. Telepathy intrigued Constantine, because it made him
live in the future and relive the present. He'd already known what
Jason would do and had watched it happen before it did.
But with Helena Palmer, he couldn't read an unconscious person
and that both intrigued and unnerved him. The future was an
unknown entity when it came to her, and telepathy always worked
better on intimates.
He followed Jason through the passage ways that lead to the heart
of the meat shipping warehouse. Nothing living on two feet had
resided here in years, but he dank mildew infested place was full of
scampering critters wary of the intrusion.
He pitied the rats that feared their home was under invasion from
monsters, just the way the humans had invaded the vampire lairs eons
ago outside of human memory or written word. Constantine altered
17
his scent to one the rats would relate to as friendly and listened for the
skittering to quiet down. He pitied them, but she wasn't going to be
on their feasting menu either. Altering his scent slightly again, he
made it clear that staying away would be for everyone's best.
Jason walked through a door ahead and stopped. Constantine
sensed Jason's nervousness, waiting for approval. That meant
Constantine was about to see what Jason had rigged as the holding
pen.
Constantine walked sideways through the door to get his bulky
body through it without confronting the hinges with her head. He
moved in front of Jason and looked around. Not bad, not bad at all.
Metal tracks for the meat hooks to be moved around on had been
rerouted to enter the room and run its length. On one end of the
tracks, a makeshift bathroom of toilet and sink had been fashioned
from water pipes running along the walls; on the other end, the floor
was covered with thick-piled oriental rugs and body sized pillows for
easy lounging. One lone meat hook hung from the tracks over the
pillows and carpets.
He placed Helena on the carpet, face up. "Do you have the rope?"
Jason came over with white nylon rope coiled in figure eights.
"Marine quality to take her weight and not collapse under the
tension."
Constantine nodded. "Hold her up for me so I can get her tied up."
He took the rope from Jason and let the first loop snake through his
fingers so only the end was left in his hand and the rest coiled on the
floor.
A growl escaped his clenched jaws at seeing Jason bracing her
upright.
"Hey man, you told me to touch her." Jason stared him straight in
the chin then looked down.
Constantine bit down on his tongue until blood broke through the
surface of his taste buds. The metallic flavor of blood always calmed
him down into a duller roar.
Pulling the rope with him, he towered behind Helena and yanked
her loose head up by a wad of strands he caught in his free hand. He
18
tugged harder than necessary to get her head in his direction, and
enveloped her hair up in his fist.
Her hair was delectably cool. It had already shed the heat of L.A.
and was taking on the quality of the dankness he found so appealing.
Constantine adjusted his sack with the rope hand, and as he looked
over Helena's head caught Jason giving him a quizzical look. Maybe
Jason was leaving his team sooner than expected. The guy thought
too much, good for an alpha bad for an underling with ideas of
grandeur. Spark or not, Jason had to stay around long enough for an
opportunity, an opportunity that might be cut short with many more
looks.
Constantine forced Helena's hair into a ponytail and placed the
standing end against her hair. With the working end, he hitched it
around her hair and plaited it, fashioning a hair corset around the
locks that wanted to billow out in all directions. Each knot bit into
strands of her hair, holding her down for his will.
With the last twist, he was nearly out of rope, but her hair was now
fully trussed up. In a double overhand bend, he joined a new coil and
wove the loose ends up into the corset. Forming a hangman's knot on
the long end, he carried
the noose in his hand as he reached out for the
step stool Jason had deposited against the wall. Opening up the ladder
under the meat hook, he brought the noose to the hook and opened its
clasp to fit the loop inside before letting the clasp spring shut with a
live carcass hanging from the end.
Coming down, he kicked the stool away. "Get it out of here."
Jason nodded and let Helena fall into whatever position her body
chose to collapse in. Her hair stood upright from her head, letting her
head get closer to the floor, but not enough to lie down.
Constantine pushed her sideways and stuffed pillows under her
head. He could still smell Jason's touch on her and kicked the
shoulder Jason's hand had dirtied with pheromones, watching her hair
swing from the ceiling in a dizzying figure eight.
His fingers itched to shorten the hanging part so her feet just grazed
the floor. What would she do, kick and scream or go comatose from
the pain of hanging by nothing but hair? Constantine shook his head.
19
He had to go slow and build up with this one. Potential did not equate
to a given in his world and even one with the blood as strong as hers
could fail to crystallize into what he needed. She had to turn and still
be his or she was another casualty in the ongoing war.
* * * *
Helena tried to move but her body didn't respond, so much pressure
as if under water and bloated with stones weighing her down.. Why
couldn't she move? Was this another one of those games/tortures her
brothers found so funny and ended with her screaming her head off
until her mom came to rescue her?
And what about the taste in her mouth, –it tasted awful.
Swallowing only intensified the taste and coated more of her throat
with the sticky residue that clung and refused to finish the descent into
her stomach.
Her eyes tried to bulge out and push open her lids but there was
resistance. She didn't wear a mask at night so why wouldn't her lids
give up their seal? Sure the darkness was nice and soothing, but she
couldn't live in the dark forever; she had mergers to see to.
Clearly she'd been asleep too long and her body was in a routine rut
and didn't want it to end. She began with her toes. There wasn't any