A connection.
Having never made a friend before, how could she know the difference?
Her compulsions to steal and to possess others had grown worse lately. Maybe she needed a real connection. She’d had so little real interaction she wondered if she’d been resurrected at all.
Sometimes, she had nightmares about floating away. Who would even notice her absence?
As Jo eased toward the entry of the courtyard, a fourth woman’s voice sounded: “It’s so good, Rune! My gods in heavens! YES! Never stop, never stop! Never, NEVER!”
Jo floated to the cracked-open wooden gate, peeking around to see a wicked scene.
A half-dressed blonde was pressed against the ivy-covered courtyard wall by a tall dark-haired man with his pants at his thighs. The woman’s lithe legs wrapped around his waist as he bounced her.
Must be Rune. What kind of name was that?
Three other stunning women were sprawled naked on a lounge sofa, heavy-lidded as they watched him pounding the fourth.
This guy had just screwed them all? Line ’em up and knock ’em down? Ugh. Forget possessing any of them.
Jo floated to the side to see him better. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and apparently he had serious stamina. He was attractive, she supposed. His eyes were nice, the color of dark plums, and she liked his thick black hair. It was carelessly cut and longish, with random small braids. But he had rough-hewn features—a fighter’s crooked nose and a too-wide jaw.
His long, lean body, however, was smoking hot. He must be nearing seven feet tall, would tower over her five and a half feet, and every inch of him was ripped. A thin shirt highlighted his broad chest and chiseled arms. His bared ass was rock-hard. His powerful thighs would nicely fill out those black leather pants bunched above his knees.
He had a bow slung over his back and a quiver strapped to his calf. A knife holster was clipped to his wide-open belt.
She shrugged; she’d witnessed weirder things on Bourbon Street. If he pulled out a little more, she’d be able to see his dick—
Whoa. Brow-raising. The brow-raising-est she’d ever seen.
How could he last this long? He wasn’t even out of breath. Maybe she’d have more sex if other guys had his staying power. Her handful of quick-draw hookups hadn’t been worth the admission price of a condom.
As she watched this tall stranger working his body—sometimes stirring his lean hips, other times withdrawing to the tip to slam back in—she wondered what his tanned, smooth skin would feel like. Smell like. When Jo was in ghost-mode, her super-keen sense of smell was weakened.
She’d bet Rune didn’t wear Axe.
Her gaze locked on the pulse point in his neck. The slow, steady rhythm was hypnotic.
Beat . . . beat . . . beat . . .
Amazingly, the tempo wasn’t speeding up.
How would he react if she pierced that pulse point with a fang? What would he taste like?
And still he was going. His stamina had to be supernatural. Plus, the women were almost too pretty. Jo suspected these people were otherworldly.
What she called freaks.
From her hidden vantages along New Orleans streets, she’d spied paranormal people doing inhuman deeds. Which made her wonder—what if she wasn’t some kind of abomination who’d been resurrected from hell? She might be one among many.
She reached for her necklace, fingering the string of misshapen bullets. She never took it off, still kept it as a token of the night she’d risen from the dead.
But her discovery of other freaks had made her start rethinking herself, her world.
Her decision to remain away from Thad.
She’d approached some of these strange beings with questions on her lips: What am I? How did I come to be? Are there others like me? Yet they’d fled her.
She had a feeling this male wouldn’t. She could talk to him once he got finished! She’d be on guard, of course, ready to bare her claws and fangs if things went sideways. . . . Jo supposed she still was like a feral cat.
Appearing lost, the blonde leaned up to kiss him, but he averted his face. Interesting.
The other three whispered to each other:
“I forget myself sometimes too.”
“Can you imagine what he could do with that mouth? If only . . .”
“Why’d he have to be a bane?”
The man must be able to hear their soft voices. He narrowed his eyes, his lips thinning with irritation, even midthrust. Jo felt sorry for him.
“Have you ever seen his black blood?”
“His cock isn’t poisonous, and that’s all that really matters.”
Poisonous? Black blood? He was definitely a freak!
The bouncing blonde cupped his craggy face. “MORE! I’m so close! Don’t stop, Rune, don’t stop!”