Maslow's Needs Read online

  The glint in his eyes intensified. “Miss Cleo told me.”

  His words sounded like a joke, but from deep within, Jessi knew he meant what he said. She’d felt a connection with him during that brief kiss. The awareness of him, a complete stranger, returned along with a rush of fear. Not of him, but the world he lived in. She glanced at the various people around her dressed in black with pale makeup and black lipstick, hiding their true faces from the “outside world.”

  She stumbled away from the bar and bumped into someone ‑‑ a man. He smiled at her, revealing one-inch fangs attached to his incisors with dental glue, but real-looking all the same. She glanced back at Drayden. His gaze intensified, and there was no way to interpret his stare as anything but a glare.

  A sharp pain shot through her mind; she gasped and clutched her temple. A barrage of thoughts jumbled through her at once, but the one word that stood out was “run.” She glanced at him one more time, and he mouthed the same word to her.

  Jessi turned and strode into the crowd, pushing and shoving her way to the nearest exit. The dancing sea of black-cloaked people parted to let her reach a door. Strong hands grabbed her arms to prevent her from exiting. She twisted to the side and brought her knee up to hit ... air. She looked up.

  Konstantinos glared down at her. The question on his face was obvious. Jessi shrugged his hands loose. “No, I’m not crazy.” She hugged her arms tight around her chest and looked around. “Just get me out of here.”

  Without a word, he took her by the elbow and led her back through the throng to the club entrance. He handed their claim checks to the hostess, a girl dressed in two strategically placed strips of black material, with fishnet stockings and orange hair.

  The girl came back seconds later with their coats. “Here you go.”

  Jessi watched Konstantinos smile and hand the girl a tip, which she promptly took and slid into the cleavage of the black strip across her breasts. Konstantinos’s smile broadened.

  Jessi resisted the urge to kick him.

  “When are you going to call me?” The orange-haired girl batted black mascara-coated lashes at him.

  “I’ve got your number.” He patted his coat pocket.

  The girl giggled.

  Jessi rolled her gaze to the ceiling. “Whenever you’re through playing Romeo, could we please go?”

  His expression hardened for a second, and his fingers bit into the soft flesh of her elbow. He smiled at the girl and pulled Jessi out onto the sidewalk.

  Jessi jerked her arm free and stepped to the curb to hail a cab, but before she could raise her arm, Konstantinos moved his large frame in front of her and, with slow steps, pushed her back against the wall. He placed his hands on either side of her head. Shadows from the night played across his face, casting eerie hollows beneath his cheeks and eyebrows. Again, the fear she’d experienced with Drayden surfaced. Not of Konstantinos, exactly, but of some power that lay just beneath the surface. Energy vibrated off him in waves that buffeted her nervous system.

  Konstantinos spoke, his voice low and full of purpose. “I’m helping you out on this case as a favor to a friend. I’m not some bodyguard-cum-errand boy that you can snap your fingers at and expect to jump.”

  He stepped back and his energy released her. She sagged against the wall and watched him move to the edge of the pavement to hail a cab ‑‑ every move graceful and precise. Like Drayden, he’d stand out in a crowd anywhere he went.

  He opened the door, wrapped his leather coat around his long frame, and turned to get in, but stopped and glanced at her. There were no words, just the black eyebrow arched to ask, “Are you coming?”

  Jessi pushed away from the wall and walked to the car. He slid in and over to make room for her. She scooted in and slammed the door. She heard a few words in what she assumed was Greek spoken to the driver, but didn’t ask as she stared out the window.

  Silence, except for the driver’s radio, surrounded them. Jessi kept her head angled where her hair concealed the left side of her face. With one fingernail she picked at the sole of her shoe. Every now and then she’d glance over without moving her head to stare at his leg crossed at his ankle, resting against the back of the seat.

  “I’m sorry.” She barely got the words through her clenched teeth. Apologies didn’t come easy, but she owed this one. After a second or two of the continued silence, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her. She swallowed the lump in her throat to try again.

  Long fingers reached over and took her hand into a warm embrace just before he pulled her against him with an arm around her shoulders.

  “I know.” He smoothed her hair away from her face and tipped her chin up to his gaze with a forefinger. “I also know you were scared. What happened?”

  Jessi closed her eyes, snuggling closer to his warmth. She shook her head.

  “I’m okay, now.”

  His arm tightened. “I’ll take care of you, but you have to trust and respect me enough to let me know when there’s a problem.”

  She smiled and kissed his hand. She’d known him two days, but she knew she could depend on him. “I do trust ... and respect you. I don’t need a bodyguard. I can take care of myself, physically.”

  “Hmm, I believe that. But what about mentally?”

  “What do you mean?” She knew, because she’d felt him and Drayden Maslow in her mind earlier. That was what frightened her. These people could somehow get into your thoughts, your feelings.

  He shifted in the seat to face her. “If I tried, I could read your mind. I’ve trained myself, but there are others who are born with the ability, and with additional training they don’t have to try at all. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  “I can protect you.”

  “How?”

  “I can teach you how to perform a banishing ritual ‑‑”

  “A what?”

  He shook his head and waved his hand. “A protection spell.”

  “I-I don’t believe in all that.”

  He sighed. “Then I suggest you start, or you will end up dead like, or in worse condition than, the gal in Hattiesburg.”

  Jessi sighed at the heavy burden that squeezed her heart whenever she thought of Molly. “What could be worse than being dead?”

  He propped his arm on the window and leaned his head against his hand. His expression grew more serious as he studied her. “You could end up a slave, held captive by their psychic powers ‑‑ your only function to feed and serve them sexually.”

  * * * * *

  Drayden watched Jessi slide into the cab with the goth. The taste of her lingered on his lips and tongue, while the smell of her skin and hair refused to leave his nostrils. The sound of her moan at the moment she had surrendered echoed in his mind, making him crave the other sounds she would make when she climaxed with him deep inside her.

  The taillights faded into the night; Drayden punched the wall. A picture fell and crashed amongst the occult paraphernalia he collected on a bookcase.

  A knock rapped in a quick tattoo, and his door opened with a jerk to reveal Jarrett Morgan, his best lieutenant. His dark eyes scanned the room and rested on the photograph. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, fine.” Drayden sat in his chair and picked up an athame, which had fallen during his little outburst of temper. He stabbed the tip into the top of his desk.

  Jarrett’s gaze narrowed, but he continued as if the episode happened routinely. “I heard back from Red Flame. Several of our house went down during the Halloween festivities to see Father Sebastian and several vamp bands.”

  Drayden watched him pull a list from his jacket pocket.

  “At least ten of our people left with about six Red Flame members from Mississippi.” He handed the list to Drayden.

  Drayden scanned the list. One name caught his attention. “Everyone returned to New York together?”

  Jarrett shifted his hands in his jacket pocket.

  A sense of unease registe
red in Drayden’s thoughts. He looked up.

  A frown creased Jarrett’s forehead and he didn’t meet Drayden’s gaze.

  Drayden lowered the list. “Who didn’t come back with the group?”

  “Your brother.”

  Damnation. His fist crushed the list. Fingernails tore into the palm of his hand, but he didn’t feel the pain. He closed his eyes to get a grip on his anger. He felt his nostrils flare with the effort. “Where ... is ... he?”

  Jarrett shifted his body again, telling Drayden all he needed to know. He’d banned his brother from the brothels, but apparently his orders were moot to some. Drayden didn’t want to deal with Nolan’s addictions right now, but he knew his indifference to his family’s “curse” had something to do with this girl’s murder.

  “Go drag his drunken ass off whatever whore he’s fucking, and bring him to me.”

  “Yes.” Jarrett left the room with three steps backwards.

  The show of fear would have amused him, except that made two people tonight he’d witnessed afraid of him ‑‑ his best friend and the woman who had been on his mind since he’d watched her throw her arrogant partner to the ground. He didn’t want either of them to be frightened of him, especially her. He wanted her to desire him, and she had ... for a few seconds, until he’d merged with her mind, letting her witness a brush of his true power as ... a vampire.

  He turned to face the window and the street below. He’d done what he’d had to do ‑‑ get her away from here. She not only put his people in danger, but herself, as well. He knew she’d react the way she had to his words and what his friends called his “menacing look,” but it had been for her own good. The more she probed, the more data would be revealed about the members of House Meroveus, a secret society hidden within and behind the walls of Club Arcadia.

  The office door burst open.

  Drayden turned to face the one person whom he had sworn to protect with all his power. The one person who, in one night of alcohol-induced psychosis, had brought possible destruction to them all ‑‑ his brother, heir to House Meroveus.

  Chapter Four

  Nolan Maslow skidded into his brother’s office. He caught his balance, shifted the collar of his shirt, then buttoned his jeans. He glanced over his shoulder at Jarrett Morgan and snarled, exposing his fangs. Jarrett hesitated a second, and Nolan tensed for another attack. He’d been in the middle of a little “snack” when he’d been hauled off his donor.

  “Leave it.”

  Ah, his brother. Nolan dismissed the watchdog with a shrug of his shoulder and turned to Drayden.

  “Did you summon?” He bowed low with a flourish of his hand.

  “Cut the crap.” Drayden sat behind his desk with a list clenched in his hand.

  Nolan edged forward, slowly, and sank into a chair. The cold metal back bit into his skin, and he grimaced in distaste. “You’d think with all the money House Meroveus and Club Arcadia take in, you could at least afford decent office furniture, bro.”

  He heard the exasperation in Drayden’s sigh and bit back a smile. Anything he could do to make his brother’s life a living nightmare appealed to him. He nodded toward the paper. “Christmas list?”

  “Not exactly.” Drayden laid the list on the desk, flipping the writing toward Nolan so he could read the black type. “There are some interesting names on here, though. Recognize anyone in particular?”

  Nolan snorted. “Yeah, my entire crew. What’s the deal?” He slung the paper back at Drayden.

  He ignored Drayden’s jaw tightening, as his brother caught the list and slid a photo across at the same time with his other hand ‑‑ so graceful, so in sync. Nolan fought the old urge to gag at the perfection that was his brother, the mighty vampire warrior Drayden Maslow.

  He looked down at the photo, and the sensation subsided to be replaced by arousal. His heart rate accelerated and mouth watered, remembering the taste of her blood, the slick heat of her pussy, and the sound of her terrified screams as he’d fucked her and killed her at the same time, bleeding and absorbing her life-force to sustain his own.

  His nostrils flared with the throb of his cock. He looked up to see Drayden studying him with narrowed eyes. He saw the look of contempt and pity in the gaze. Fuck him. Drayden could deny his heritage all he wanted, but not him, Nolan Maslow, the last of the true “Thaumaturge Kings.”

  Nolan raised the photo to his face and kissed the area of the dead girl’s pussy. “Sweet as honey.”

  “You sick motherfucker. What have you done?”

  Nolan smiled. “Reminded you of your duties, dear brother.” He stood and headed for the door. “I’m tired of role-playing to obtain the energy I need to survive. We’re a unique breed. Hybrids ‑‑ psychic vampire mixed with a sanguinarian. Accept it.”

  He spread his arms wide and breathed in exaggerated fashion. “It’s time for me to claim my heritage, and you to serve me instead of acting like my babysitter.”

  Drayden stood with fists clenched at his sides. “We are not role-playing. We are fighting a battle of survival. If we are to remain anonymous to the status quo, then we have to follow the rules of the Black Veil.”

  Nolan watched his brother clench his fists. Oh, how it made his dick swell from the sheer power he gained at seeing his brother grovel. Drayden continued in his “holier than thou” voice.

  “I am aware of my responsibilities. It has always been and always will be my duty to do what is best for our community, and that includes protecting our suppliers from the likes of you, regardless of whether you are the true heir.”

  Nolan’s hand cradled the doorknob. “It is my lineage that can be traced back to Merovech, not yours.” He turned. Time to knock that die-hard equilibrium down a peg or two. “By the way, who was the delectable brunette you were tasting earlier?”

  He flicked his tongue through the gap of his fangs. “From her clothes, it didn’t appear she was from around here, but she looked ... good enough to eat.”

  “Don’t even ‑‑”

  “What? Think about it?” He laughed. “I already have, bro, because what you crave and deny yourself ‑‑ I take and consume. I’d watch that sweet piece of ass if I were you, or she just might become my dessert.”

  With that, he opened the door, pushed Jarrett out of his way, and left.

  * * * * *

  Jessi watched the cab pull away from the curb, carrying Konstantinos. He’d wanted to walk her to her door, but she’d refused. She’d been here for a month, and the only activity she had seen so far on her street was Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein yelling at each other ‑‑ her from the third-story window and him in the street in his underwear. She shook her head and pulled her keys from her pocket.

  Walking up the short flight of steps to her door, she tried to insert her key, but her fingers slipped over the lock and the keys fell with a jingle to the cold cement step.

  “Damn.” She pulled off her glove as she bent and reached for the keys. Her fingernails scraped the concrete, and she clenched her teeth at the sensation, which was worse than fingernails on a chalkboard, in her opinion. “Ooo, God, I hate th‑‑”

  She froze. The hair on the back of her neck stiffened, and her skin tingled like thousands of ants crawled across her skin. Slowly, she straightened and turned to scan the street while flipping through her keys. She needed to look casual, so she whistled a snappy little tune she’d heard on the television earlier that day. All the while, she searched the darkened corners and niches along the street, hoping to see the person who watched her. Her tune reached the end, and she turned back to the door, angling her head to listen for anything out of the ordinary.

  A clatter sounded about fifty yards away. She pivoted, groaning at the spasm she received in her side for the effort. Not sure what she’d heard, she eased down the steps and reached for her gun.

  Shit! She’d left it when she and Konstantinos had gone out. A row of garbage cans stood by the street. With a quick perusal, she spotted a broken broom handle.
She pulled it free of the debris, shifting it in her hand to find a firm, comfortable grip. She moved forward, checking every sunken stairwell she came to that led to below-ground apartments.

  Nothing.

  The suspense grated on her nerves. Every sound echoed and amplified with her anxiety. Through the cold, she could feel sweat soak her skin beneath her sweater. She swallowed the lump that was her pulse in her throat, pounding through the thin layer of skin. She neared a darkened alley; her grip tightened on the wooden handle. Taking a deep breath, she pivoted to face the entrance at the same time an airborne body collided with her chest.

  Sharp talons sank into her skin through the layers of her jacket and clothing. She released her weapon to pull her attacker off. Her fingers sunk into a thick layer of fur ‑‑ she screamed at the same time her attacker let out an angry yowl.

  Rrrrooow ... Teeth bit into the soft skin under her jaw near her ear, while the claws continued to stab and drag down her face, neck, and chest.

  “Get ... off!” She dug her fingers into the fur, yanked hard, and threw the offending beast from her body before she fell to her knees on the pavement. Her breath coming in gasps, she watched a gigantic yellow cat haul ass across the street into a neighboring alley. “Goddammit!”

  Jessi glanced around at the buildings. Several lights had clicked on within the apartments, and she watched a shadowy fall of drapes in one across the way, but no one came out to see if she needed help. She tried to stand, but her legs were shaking so hard, she had to take a few deep breaths to calm herself from the adrenaline rush that had taken control. She gave a short laugh and sang a few lines from Guns and Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle.”

  She placed one hand on her knee and saw the darkened patches of blood, spreading across her fingers and knuckles. Bile rose in her throat, but she fought the urge to vomit and pushed herself up. Hobbling back to the apartment, she searched her jacket pocket for her keys. This time she managed to get the door opened, pulling off the other glove.

  She shoved the door shut with her foot and locked the bolt with her left hand. Cuts and bites covered that one, also, but thanks to the glove she’d kept on, the hand looked and felt in better condition than the right one, which throbbed and stung. Blood dripped across the floor as she made her way to the bathroom.