Blood of the Alizarene
Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Evelyn Starr
Word Count :12248
Publication Date :2013-05-20
Series : #
Heat Level :
- Product Code: 0000638
Fresh blood steamed hot and crimson-scarlet. Strewed in nearly random patterns, it marred the new-fallen, still falling snow with sharp-edged scallops and spangles and streaks, illuminating the stark perfection of approaching night with ghastly brilliance.
Drucilla Delisle's arm sagged. The Luger slipped from fingers gone lifeless and nearly numb, and her heart began to trip-hammer wildly, threatening to explode with every beat as more darkness encroached upon the edges of her vision.
She had killed him.
The enemy…the Alizarene.
Pick up the gun, something roared urgently inside her head in spiraling tones, potentially deadly tones. Echoes of her shot still bounced and echoed through miles and miles of empty forest, and when she tried to obey, she discovered she couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but breathe, struggling harder and harder to stay on her feet and alert as every attempt lodged tighter and tighter in the center of her chest.
Mindless of soil or stain that might transfer to her white Trigere coat, possessed by a new and much more inexplicable internal spiraling, Drucilla leaned heavily against the nearest wet-black tree trunk. Licking her lips, perplexed by the sudden internal awakening, she flexed her fingers and gulped painfully.
"Holy Mother of God." Peter Granatum brushed past her. Headlong, rushing like she'd never seen him rush before, he reached the figure sprawled across the snow and stooped over it.
Drucilla couldn't look at him. She doubted she would be able to see him even if she could.
Her world had darkened and narrowed ominously. Leaving only a single, flickering pinpoint centered mostly, entirely, upon the Picasso-rich splashes of color and the sprawled figure from which they still flowed.
The sight of it fascinated her. Awakened fresh hunger in her, and a fierce tingling she did not understand and felt powerless to explain.
Because she didn't want to explain?
Licking her lips again, Drucilla swallowed harder.
The new hunger, the pervasive tingle of it, had reached her heart. Had left it feeling simultaneously overexcited and sluggish, and threatened to stop it dead in its tracks in another moment.
Peter turned to her, so slowly that the air seemed to rip with the subtle force of his movement. He said something, but there was no making it out…no understanding a syllable of it.
His voice had slowed. His voice dragged. Like the world might drag if, when, it decided to spin eternally to a stop.
This tingle was similar, nearly identical, to the one she felt whenever Peter was nearby. Whenever he looked at her and especially, immutably, whenever the course of their professional association led him to touch her or brush against her. No matter how lightly. No matter how unintentionally. And that wasn't good for an agent. Drucilla knew it wasn't. She knew it was doubly not good for a student when all those tingles and urges and the precipitously ricocheting desires they ignited, centered around the man assigned to teach her. How to pass through the world unnoticed. How to infiltrate and investigate. And yes, how to kill with impunity. The way she'd just killed. And a hundred-thousand other things that would ensure her long life and success at her chosen profession.
Now, with her gorge rising rapidly to fill her constricting throat, with lips and fingertips and even toe-tips come alive with the strangest form of lightning yet and the new internal fire reaching the outskirts of her consciousness, she wished…prayed…
Arash Farahani lay face down. Partially face down, his head turned a little to the side. Just enough that she could see the look of stunned surprise still stamped across his heavy, fleshy features. Just enough that if through some bizarre miracle, some spark of life still clung inside his sprawled body, he would be able to breathe around the crusting of snow at his nostrils.
He'd been a big man, Farahani. The biggest. Bigger and more fearsome by far than any man or any Alizarene she'd encountered before. Standing a good two hundred some odd pounds at six foot six, he'd been solid muscle. Towering over her as he'd uttered his final words, he'd been so much more powerful than her, so much more focused and intense with his small eyes that seemed to see right through her and an unrelenting expression.
She'd nearly turned and run.
And yet there he was. The meanest possible operative of an enemy organization famed for its meanness, its heartlessness, its mercilessness. Sprawled awkwardly amidst the escaping scarlet of the life she'd taken. The life she'd…
The realization, the accompanying flood of inexplicable wetness that chilled her thighs and all the regions between, made her sag. Again. More heavily. Made her breath rasp in the snow-lit twilight as if she was the one who lay dying. As if she, relying nearly entirely now upon the wet black of her tree trunk for support, was the one who'd already died.
"D-dear G-God." Her voice smoked in the frigid air. Too loud, explosively loud. Much too tingly-excited and not the least bit steady.
Peter bent over Farahani for another moment. A very, very long one. Reaching, careful to keep the hem of his gray overcoat from trailing in the visceral mess, he pressed the tips of his fingers to the fallen enemy's throat.
Then he picked up Farahani's gun and Drucilla's. He straightened, pocketing both. And flashed one of his rare smiles. One of his most dazzling ones. "Nice shot," was all he said.
So unspeakably much blood!
Tingling more, harder, Drucilla licked her lips again. They were rough. Chapped. "I mean…is h…he…"
Dead? She couldn't say it. Though she knew he had to be.
No man could lose so much shimmering-red blood, no man could lie so motionless and still…especially not a man as dangerous as Arash Farahani…unless he was…
"Dead." Peter's voice was almost conversational. "Very." His smile grew wider. More brilliant.
More shockingly, stunningly enticing.