First Drop of Crimson

they wouldn’t give her the chance to find Nathanial and have the brands taken off. They’d kill her without a moment’s hesitation. And if the suppliers of Red Dragon discovered Denise was another source for their illicit, highly expensive trade, they’d turn her existence into a living hell.

A muscle ticked in Spade’s jaw. Damned if he’d allow either to happen.

“Can’t say I have any,” Ian went on, with a shake of his head. “Very hard to come by, of course. I tried it once. It was fun for ’round an hour, but then it gave me the most rotten dreams plus a headache the next day—a bloody headache! Why would you want to trifle with that poison, Charles?”

“I have my reasons,” Spade replied.

Denise glanced at her feet, shuffling uneasily, but not saying a word. Smart lass. He’d trust Ian with many things, but not this.

Ian’s clear turquoise gaze considered him. Spade kept his face impassive. If Ian couldn’t direct him to a source, he’d go to someone else who could. Red Dragon might be rare and illegal, but there were ways to find it. There were ways to find anything, if one was prepared to look hard enough.

“I’ll tell you who I got mine from,” Ian said at last. “Can’t promise the bloke is still dealing it; that was a few years ago. In any event, his name’s Black Jack, and at the time, he frequented the high-stakes games at the Belaggio.”

“The Belaggio in Vegas?” Spade clarified.

Ian shrugged. “It is Sin City, after all.”

That muscle ticked in Spade’s jaw again. “So it is. That offer of a room still open, mate?”

“Why?” Denise blurted.

Spade took her hand and gave it a light squeeze, but Ian just laughed.

“Don’t care for me, poppet? I suppose it’s those wretched stories Cat must have told about me. Women do like to exaggerate.”

“You’re saying you didn’t try to blackmail Cat into having sex with you by threatening to kill some of her soldiers?” Denise asked, ignoring Spade’s tightening grip on her hand.

Ian’s smile was shameless. “Ah, that? Yes, I did that.”

Denise’s hand seemed to get warmer while her scent sharpened with anger. “That’s more than enough reason not to like you.”

“Denise.” Spade turned her to face him. “Trust me on this.”

She shot another mutinous glare at Ian, but nodded.

Glad she wouldn’t argue further, even though Ian had been deliberately baiting her, Spade pressed a kiss to Denise’s forehead. As soon as his lips touched her skin, however, she froze. So did he.

Kissing her felt like such a natural thing to do, he hadn’t even thought before acting on the impulse. But now the memory of the last time his mouth had been on her flashed across his mind.

Spade couldn’t stop the flare of heat inside him. Some of Denise’s response could be rationalized as the normal reaction any human would have to a carefully placed vampire bite. Not all of it. Not even half of it. Despite her aversion to the vampire world, her PTSD, and the grief that still shadowed her for her slain husband, Denise wanted him.

And despite her humanity, the growing danger she was in, and his own common sense, he wanted her, too. So badly it burned.

Spade’s lips slowly left her skin, her heat still lingering on them. When he caught the deepening fragrance blossoming from her, it was all he could do not to press them to her mouth.

“Will you be needing that room now?” Ian asked with heavy irony.

Denise wasn’t amused by Ian’s comment. She spun around and walked away.

“Second floor, third door on your left. Springy mattress, too,” Ian called out.

Spade crossed over to Ian in a blink, stopping himself just in time, though his hands were still curled into fists.

“Were you about to strike me, Charles?” Ian asked, disbelief replacing the amusement on his face.

Spade relaxed his hands. He’d never acted in such a way over a human in all the centuries he’d known Ian. In truth, he’d never acted such a way over anyone, vampire or human. He had to get control of himself when it came to Denise. The situations they’d be in to track Nathanial wouldn’t allow for witless, possessive responses like this.

“I know it’s your nature to act this way, Ian, but try to curb it when you’re around Denise,” Spade managed to say in a very calm tone.

Ian stood, his movements slow and deliberate, then he placed his hands on Spade’s shoulders.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but it’s starting to concern me. Sneaking behind your best mate’s back. Seeking out Red Dragon. Your temper snapping over any perceived slight to her. Have a pause, mate. This isn’t like you.”

No, it wasn’t, and Spade knew it. But he couldn’t pause. Time was running out in more ways than one.

“Don’t fret about me,” he replied, touching Ian’s hands briefly before stepping away. “I know what I’m doing.”

He started toward the direction Denise had gone—which was out the front door, not up the stairs to the room with the springy mattress—when Ian’s voice chased after him.

“I’m starting to doubt that, Charles.”

Spade didn’t respond. He was starting to doubt it, too.

Denise rubbed the brands underneath her long sleeves. Amid her embarrassment, confusion, and frustration, she was also starving. Damn Raum and Nathanial. If not for them, her cousins and aunt would still be alive. She’d be home, trying to rebuild her life in as normal a way as she could. Not here, outside this monstrosity of a house owned by an undead asshole. She’d been so careful to stay away from other, dark world, yet none of her precautions seemed to have made a difference, because here she was, cursing one vampire while inexorably drawn to the other.

Spade had to know she was attracted to him. Cat told her vampires could smell emotions in humans, like anger, deception, fear—or desire. Spade wouldn’t have even needed undead senses back in the park, but she hoped he was too drugged to fully register what happened. Now she’d ruined any chance of Spade passing that off as something misremembered. What was wrong with her? He’d told her to expect casual displays of affection as part of their act. She hoped Spade thought she was just going for an Academy Award with her response to his kiss on her forehead.

Denise rubbed the brands again, wishing she could scrape them off and be done with it. Not that it would do any good. Raum’s essence would still be pumped through her with every beat of her heart. These brands were only her “leash,” or his form of a demonic LoJack. If Nathanial was similarly branded—and based on the images Raum showed her, he was—why did the demon need her at all? Why couldn’t he just track Nathanial the same way he’d tracked her?

She turned to resume her pacing…and collided with Spade. He’d come outside without her hearing it, and she, so distracted, had walked right into him.

Spade steadied her with a cool hand on each arm. His tiger-colored gaze was hooded. He opened his mouth, then paused, like he had something unpleasant to say and was choosing his words.

Denise was so anxious to cut off a humiliating discussion about her earlier reaction to him that she babbled the first thing that came to mind.

“What if Nathanial’s blocking Raum? Nathanial has these, too”—she held out her wrists—“but Raum needs me to find him. That doesn’t make sense, unless Nathanial discovered a way to negate the marks, even if it was only enough to throw Raum off his tail.”

Whatever Spade had been about to say, that succeeded in distracting him. He frowned, his eyes raking over her covered wrists.

“You’re right. Or Raum is lying about being able to track you through them and he’s just following us instead. The possibility changes what I had planned, but it’s worth investigating.”

Denise wondered what the old plan had been. What if Spade was about to say he couldn’t continue helping her? That her obvious attraction made it too awkward, or that his rejections would get colder due to necessity? He