The Fever Series

"The name's Malluce, asshole," he hissed.

Barrons flicked a contemptuous gaze over the vampire, from frothy, bloody jabot to pointy-toed, silk-trimmed leather slippers.

"Just the latest piece of ass, McCabe."

I no longer had to bite down. I was speechless.

McCabe laughed. "She talk?"

"Not unless I tell her to. Her mouth's usually too full."

Mac: Okay, Barron's it's time.

"Yes, I have loved, Ms. Lane, and although it's none of your business, I have lost. Many things. And no, I am not like any other player in this game and I will never be like V'lane, and I get a hard-on a great deal more often than occasionally."

He leaned fully against me and I gasped.

"Sometimes it's over a spoiled little girl, not a woman at all. And yes, I trashed the bookstore when I couldn't find you. You'll have to choose a new bedroom, too. And I'm sorry your pretty little world got all screwed up, but everybody's does, and you go on. It's how you go on that defines you."

His hand relaxed on my throat.

"You had something. What was it?" he demanded.

"An alcohol-laced kiss," I said tightly. "Two, to be precise."

"From who?"

"From whom, I believe is the correct phrasing."

Jericho: Why should I let you take it?

Mac: Because you owe me.

Jericho: Why do I owe you?