Pure Blood_ A Nocturne City Novel - Caitlin Kittredge [63]
Dmitri slammed his hips into mine, my wriggling having aroused his attention. His face was an inch away, his scent seeping into my every pore. I wanted to rage at him and I wanted to sob. I wanted Dmitri, no matter how crappily our last time together had ended. I hadn’t ached this badly for Trevor or any of my plain human boyfriends.
I hadn’t even needed Joshua this badly.
“What is she?” I whispered again, tears working down my cheeks.
Dmitri dipped his head into the curve of my neck just behind my ear, and scented me with a deep shuddering breath that mimicked my heartbeat. “She’s not you,” he said.
He looked like he wanted to say more, but I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled our mouths together, kissing him so hard I cut my lip on my bottom teeth. Dmitri licked up my blood, his hands sliding around my waist and pulling me flush with his whole length. I moaned as he broke off and trailed down my neck, nipping at the skin in ways I never imagined could feel so spectacular.
“What in seven hells is going on?” Irina demanded from the doorway.
Dmitri stepped back abruptly, putting an arm’s length between us. “I told you to wait in the car.”
“You took a long time,” said Irina, her bottom lip trembling. “And now, I tell you that you can walk back to our fucking apartment.” She turned on her heel and strode out, the fury on her face compounded when she slammed the front door hard enough to knock objects off the kitchen shelves.
I straightened my shirt and smoothed out my hair. Nothing to be done about the flush on my face. Dmitri hung his head, scuffing the linoleum with his boot. “I think she forgot we came in your car.”
“Sorry,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean it. The small, nasty part of me was gratified to see the same hurt I’d felt written on Irina’s face. That part whispered the bitch had it coming. More of me just felt foolish for falling into the trap of my instincts yet again. Way to go, Luna. Way to stay professional and keep your cool.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Dmitri. “My fault as much as yours.”
“I’m almost done here,” I said neutrally. Don’t look at Dmitri. Don’t think about what almost happened. Don’t you dare think this changes anything.
While lecturing myself, I quickly glanced into each of Joubert’s myriad drawers. Most held oddments of flatware or food. I found a snub-nosed .38 revolver in the drawer nearest the sink. An old rotary-style phone sat on the counter above it, and an address book was open to the C’s.
“Finally,” I muttered. In reality, suspects rarely hide their good secrets inside clever cubbyholes or a box of Cap’n Crunch from 1986. Most of the time, they’re just as dumb and obvious as the rest of us and leave things lying around in plain sight. The page held only two entries—a place called Cat’s that I assumed was a strip club or a brothel and a smudged number where Joubert had scribbled Carrie—Koffe Kart # next to it in handwriting that would make a nun weep.
The Koffe Kart was the lobby restaurant in the O’Halloran Building. Coincidence, I might have believed before I got Vincent’s autopsy results. Now this was something incriminating. Besides, it was fun to imagine one of those prissy caster witches cozying up to Joubert.
I tore the page out of the book and shoved it in my pocket, nudging Dmitri. “Let’s go.”
Once we’d gotten out of the hushed house, I called in the suicide and then turned to Dmitri. “Need a ride back to downtown?” I was hoping he’d say no, because being in a car with him would be the most awkward thing in the world right now.
“Can you just drop me in Waterfront?” he asked. Waterfront was his old pack territory, and belonged to whoever the new pack leader of the Redbacks was now. Going there was practically begging for an ass-beating.
I started to say no, then thought of Irina and the way Dmitri had shoved me away when she came in. “Sure,” I said. “Hop