Tariq sequestered himself inside his office with orders not to be disturbed while Enrique oversaw the cleanup and refurbishing of his quarters. Crossing over to the console behind his desk, he called up the security feed from last night, rewinding until he spotted his Heart’s Blood approaching the entrance.
The form-fitted dress she barely wore molded to a slender body with very feminine curves. Her breasts were full, round, and bounced as she walked. She had an oval face, high cheekbones, and eyes which slanted at the corners. Skin colored a rich, golden brown proclaimed her African-American heritage.
There was fluidity in her movement; an almost catlike grace and litheness in the play of muscles beneath her skin. Hair the color of midnight with amber highlights fell thick and straight to her narrow waist. It swished back and forth in a seductive rhythm, drawing attention to her pert, tight butt.
Tariq felt his fangs lengthen and a snarl build in his throat watching the lustful way the men standing in line gazed at her ass as she strolled by. He wanted to rip their puny little heads off their weak human bodies. Never before had he felt possessive of a woman but his Heart’s Blood wasn’t just any woman.
Reminding himself it was just a video, he forced himself to calm and remember his purpose. She’d reached the club’s entrance and his men. Tariq changed cameras. This new angle allowed him to see her face quite clearly. From her expression, Tariq concluded she didn’t want to be here. So why had she come? She was alone. Maybe she’d come to meet someone and they’d chosen the meeting place. Eyes narrowing, he watched Reynard, his head bouncer, eye her slender figure. He’d make it clear to the man later she was taken.
Suddenly Tariq leaned forward as she handed Reynard something gold. A few key strokes froze the screen and magnified the image. It was one of his coins; one that allowed visiting vampyrs free passage in his territory. It was the equivalent of a U. S. passport. Tariq settled back in his chair, fingers steepled as he attempted to puzzle it out. How had she come by it? He made a note to have someone investigate. Only so many were dispensed and his people kept strict records.
The anger he’d barely been holding in check since discovering he couldn’t track his Heart’s Blood surged. No, not anger. It was too tame a word. This was rage—bone deep and soul-searing—fueled by a sense of…helplessness? How was he ever going to find her again? Knowing he needed his wits about him, Tariq tamped down on the emotional response.
Someone knew who she was. Perhaps he’d find the one who had given her his coin. And, thanks to an anonymous tip, he had another lead on her whereabouts. Tariq’s determination grew. She wouldn’t escape him forever. He’d find her. It was his new mission in life.
Tariq switched cameras as she entered The Gladiator. For the next few minutes, despite being tall for a human female he only managed to catch glimpses of her as she worked her way through the crowd. She disappeared again from sight and he impatiently scanned monitors until she reappeared at the main bar on the second level. Again her expression said she wished to be anywhere but where she was. An impression reinforced with repeated glances at her watch.
He angled his head to the side, studying her intently. Was she waiting for someone? No, he didn’t think so. She’d be scanning the crowds, checking the faces of anyone who neared. Instead she sat on the stool, her body curled protectively over the glass she rarely lifted to her lips. Her entire demeanor screamed stay away. To his grim satisfaction, the few brave souls who dared approach her were quickly run off.
His Heart’s Blood ordered two drinks, neither of which she drank more than an ounce or two of, and spent the rest of the time either staring in the mirror behind the bar or looking down at her glass. At intermitted periods she glanced at her watch, keeping close track of the time. About forty-eight minutes after she entered the club, her shoulders sagged as though with relief as she slid off the bar and headed toward the exit.
With eyes closed, Tariq thought back to the moment he’d first sensed her. Impatience, frustration, and nerves, followed quickly by relief. No, she hadn’t wanted to be there and had made her escape—or attempted to—as soon as she was able. His woman was an enigma, and Tariq vowed to learn all of her secrets.
He captured the image of her as she rose from the stool, froze it, and then copied it to the hologram machine. With the touch of a few buttons he had a full, 3-D image of his Heart’s Blood displayed in the center of his office floor. Needing to be close to her, even if it was only her picture, he rose and went to stand next to it.
As he examined her face, feature by feature, a dizzying array of emotions washed over him, almost too fast to decipher. He easily recognized anger, since his continued to bubble just beneath the surface. Vulnerability, a feeling of being trapped. Determination. Fierce concentration. Defeat. More rage with a tinge of fear. Brutal focus. Intense resolve.
They disappeared as quickly as they’d come, cut off as though they’d never been. Who…what?
Tariq snapped to attention. His Heart’s Blood. He was sensing her. Where the hell was she and what was happening to her? Whoever was making her feel all this would pay, but to find them, he first had to find her. He closed his eyes, opened his senses and searched the void, hoping for a glimmer of a trail. Something he could lock onto.
Anticipation slammed into him, knocking him off balance. He stumbled to the desk and grabbed hold as his knees buckled. It was quickly followed by happiness, hope. What the…?
Lethargy. He staggered back, managing to fall into one of the chairs in front of his desk as his muscles went lax and refused to support him. He and his Heart’s Blood were one. Shields down, senses wide open, he had no control. Her emotions overwhelmed him and took over.
Budding desire built and grew. His cock hardened until it resembled concrete. He barely retained enough self-possession to loosen the opening of his pants and free his straining erection, and only then because the pain briefly over-rode every other consideration. His engorged penis throbbed dangerously, filled to bursting.
Hips thrusting, he humped air, twisting and straining for release. Each time he came close, the arousal would dampen, only to come back stronger, harder. Tariq’s fangs dropped and his nails lengthened to form claws. His mind was a haze, sanity almost lost when suddenly it stopped.
He panted, drawing in lungs full of air. His left hand shot out to grasp his cock. Once, twice, three pumps were all it took before he spewed all over the place, the release so great he almost blacked out.
Before he could clamp his shields back in place, it started again. Desire boiled like lava over his skin, making the orgasm he’d attained mere seconds ago non-existent. He shared his woman’s anger, fought with her to contain the relentless, all-consuming desire burning like fire in his veins. Felt her determination not to give in, not to be overwhelmed.
“Fight, baby. Be strong,” he commanded like she could hear him, feel him with her.
Tariq fought the need to stroke his erection, not knowing if the flow of emotions went both ways. She was barely holding on. The last thing he wanted was to add his desire to hers.
Something happened. A wave of lust hit him so strong his defenses demolished. His hand shot out and gripped his cock, stroking, pumping as though his very life depended on it. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t make his hand release. He got right to the edge of orgasm and couldn’t come. His balls were so tight, they hurt. A red haze filled his vision. He, they couldn’t take it anymore. Something primal stirred in him, in them, fighting to break free.
The thing snapped and he roared.