Captured by the Chimera Zombie-Master

by Veronica Sommers

  My anger disappears, sucked away like debris into the vacuum of space. In its place I feel overwhelming pity.

  "Your face," he says. "You look so sad."

  "You're really doing a good job, reading me," I tell him, trying not to let the pity I feel flow through my voice. "It's excellent progress."

  "It's easy with you," he says. "You show all your emotions in your face. And you reflect what I feel, somehow. I can sense it, inside myself. You are pained because of me, but there's affection mixed with that pain. And longing." He rises, moving quickly to my side, kneeling by the sofa and looking up into my face. "You long for me."

  "I—I long to help you," I correct him gently. "To make you see what you could be. To show you all that you're missing."

  His eyes darken, from bright yellow to rich amber. "Yes. Yes, Finley—show me what I am missing." His hand moves onto my thigh.

  Cautiously I shift a few inches away from him, so that his fingers fall away. "You promised Atlan you wouldn't touch me."

  "Not exactly. I said I wouldn't give you anything you didn't ask for. But you're asking to teach me, to help me. What better way than by letting me be with you?" His fingers creep forward again, talons brushing the hem of my shorts. He lifts his great horned head, and his eyes are pools of liquid lava, mesmerizing and gorgeous and deadly. "Let me touch you, Finley—let me feel with you. Teach me how to love you. Because I think I already do."

  "You don't." My voice trembles, because I'm feeling way too many things all at once—pity and fear, sympathy and caution. "You only think you love me because I'm new and different, and you can see a place for me in your plan. Also I'm guessing that plain old lust is most of what you're feeling, as you told me back in the cage room."

  "I also told you it's more than mating instinct." His eyes flash, and he touches my knee with his talons, grazing my skin lightly. "Some part of me also wants to be part of you."

  "Right. That part is called your penis."

  He laughs, short and rough. "This is different. You just want to pretend it's not because that makes it simpler for you, with your little vampire. If I am the bad guy who wants to rape you, you have no choice to make. Your decision is easy. But if I'm a powerful male who loves you, who wants to be with you in the same meaningful way that he does—then your decision becomes much more difficult."

  "Not really," I counter. "But if that's what you want to tell yourself, fine."

  He recoils, frowning. "Are you really telling me that you don't feel any desire for me at all? Because you know that's a lie. There have been moments when you were aroused in my presence. Like when I danced with you. You wanted me, I could see it. Your eyes betrayed you."

  "Maybe I was a little aroused, but—"

  "Yes!" He tightens a fist. "You admit it."

  "But that doesn't mean I choose you."

  "Atlan and I could share you. Perhaps the three of us could learn new things, new emotions, together." His lips stretch in a grin that shows savage canines. "The vampire has a nice body, and he knows how to move it. We could make room for him. Or let him and Clarice amuse each other while you and I are occupied, and then switch later."

  I leap up from the couch, thoroughly incensed again. "Do you know what Clarice almost did to him yesterday?"

  Uncertainty flickers across his face. "What do you mean?"

  I spit out the tale Atlan told me, and Reuel's face sobers.

  "I will speak to her," he says. "It won't happen again."

  "Really?" I'm nearly hysterical at his inconsistency, his double standard. "It's no different from what you almost did to me in the cage room. Don't you see that?"

  "Clarice Corbin and I are nothing alike." His lip curls again. "She is intelligent, but too flighty, too irrational in her decisions. Too needy."

  Stunned, I stare at him—and then I give in to my impulse and smack the side of his face with my open hand. "So that's it, then. For all your talk, you're just another alpha-male idiot I might have met at a bar before the Gorging. You want to use a woman physically without offering any emotional support or connection whatsoever. If a woman wants more than sex, if she dares to ask you to listen or be loyal or help her in some way, you flake out. You think you're so special, but you're not. You're just another asshole." I spin away from him and stalk to the door—but then I whirl around again. "And this is not an excuse for Clarice in any way, because I think she's a horrible person and also mentally ill, and I wish I could give both of you the help you need but I can't, I just can't, and I'm done trying—at least for tonight."

  He stands by the sofa, his mouth hanging open. His eyes are scarlet now, wide under his dark lashes, and liquid with inexpressible shock and sadness. His half-open wings droop behind him, and he shrinks from my glare, looking down at his empty claw-tipped hands.

  I storm out of the room, letting the door swing as it likes behind me.

  The hallway is dark, with only a bulb here and there to light my way. I march along it, trying to shake that last pitiful image of him out of my head.

  Maybe I was too hard on him.

  After hours of enduring the tension in that room, I'm craving relief. A bed. Sleep. Blissful oblivion for several hours.

  I make my way to the dormitory hall, stopping by the bathroom first.

  When I come out, the lab tech John is waiting for me.

  "I've been asked to secure your room once you're inside," he says, with an apologetic wince.

  "Oh, sure. What about—has Atlan gone to bed already?"

  "He's locked in his room for the night, yes."

  "I see."

  We don't speak again, except for a quick exchange of "Good night" as the door to my assigned room closes behind me. The space is empty except for a few sparse pieces of furniture and my bag. No one has returned my clothes yet. It's possible someone took them away to be washed; I'm sure a place like this must have laundry facilities.

  The lock on the door clicks into place. No getting out again tonight. I know it's locked to keep me in, to prevent escape, to keep me away from the man I love. But somehow it's not terrifying or confining. I'm glad to be alone, with a door between me and all the craziness in this bunker. Plus there's a faint scent in the room—warm spiciness with a top note of sea-breezy goodness. Comforting.

  My room smells like Atlan.

  I must be imagining it. Atlan is several doors down the hall, locked into his own room.

  Sighing, I shed the shorts I'm wearing, but I keep my panties and corset on. Other than its habit of emphasizing my boobs, I don't mind the corset, actually. It supports my bruised rib better than my other clothing did—so much so that it barely twinges now when I move. Besides, when they stole my other clothes they took my bra too, and I don't want to be caught mostly naked if someone decides to pay me a midnight visit. I doubt Reuel would do that, but if being around him has taught me anything, it's that he is unpredictable. It's dangerous to assume that I understand him, or that I know the limits of what he is willing to do to get what he wants.

  It might be a good idea to barricade the door. I could use one of the cots to do it.

  But as I'm stepping toward the farthest cot, a yawn splits my face, and heaviness drops over me like a blanket.

  I need sleep.

  I'm sure I'll be perfectly safe.

  After flicking off the light, I collapse into bed and disappear into sleep.

  22

  Finley

  Someone is touching me. Trailing fingertips along the underside of my wrist, toward my elbow.

  I lash out in the dark, silent and savage. My fingers scrabble over skin, latch onto someone's neck. With my other hand I punch, landing a blow that makes my attacker wheeze with pain through his constricted throat.

  "Ow, Trouble!"

  "Atlan?" I release him instantly and fumble past him to the wall switch. The light winks on and there he is, lean and beautiful and half naked. In my room.

  "Surprise." He grins weakly, bending over to catch his breath.r />
  With a muffled whimper I fly to him, wrapping him in a tight hug. He slides an arm around my waist and curves the other around my head. His breath warms my hair.

  "You're here." I tighten my grip. "Never leave."

  "Wasn't planning on it. Damn, you've gotten strong."

  "How did you get in here without getting caught?"

  "I sneaked in earlier, while you were with Reuel. It was a combination of luck and supreme cleverness on my part." He curls his fingers under my chin, his thumb sweeping across my cheek. "I'm so glad you came back. I thought you might end up spending the night elsewhere."

  "Nope. And if I'd known you were waiting for me I'd have been back sooner. Why didn't you say something when I first came in?"

  "Honestly? I fell asleep. I was—am—a little injured."

  Only then do I realized that his back doesn't feel smooth like normal. There are sticky slits in his skin.

  I step back, alarmed. His chest is damaged too, long cuts crusted with dried blood traveling diagonally across it in crisscrossing swipes. "Who did this to you?"

  "Darius."

  Heat floods my lungs and forms an angry haze in my brain. "Why didn't you mention you were hurt, you stupid boy? You just let me hug you! Idiot! Sit on the bed, now."

  Meekly he obeys. "It's not so bad. The pain was a lot worse earlier. I'm more upset about my coat. Darius shredded the whole back of it."

  "It's about time something happened to that damn coat. It smells terrible."

  "It does not! You just want me walking around here all sexy and shirtless." He frowns in mock accusation. "I feel used and objectified."

  Ignoring him, I fumble through my pack. Whoever rifled through my things didn't remove the first aid kit, and there are a few supplies left. Sitting on the bed beside him, with my thigh pressed against his, I clean the cuts with wipes first, and then I unroll some gauze. There's only enough gauze and tape for a few of the worst wounds.

  "It's okay," Atlan says as I fret over the scanty length. "It'll be healed by tomorrow night."

  "I just want to help you." Tears prickle at the edges of my eyes as I seal the last of the tape to his skin.

  He tips my chin up, looking into my eyes with a craving I recognize. "You can."

  Why didn't I think of it sooner? "Blood—of course! Take as much as you need. I've still got some Sanguadyne injections left, and Reuel fed me well tonight—as well as he could from what they have left. I think they're running really low on supplies."

  "Getting desperate, are they? Interesting. We can use that as leverage." Atlan's left hand disappears behind me as we sit side by side, and he starts tracing lazy patterns across my upper back and shoulders. My hair is still up in a messy knot, so it's out of his way. Whenever his fingers graze my spine, a delicious buzz of pleasure surges along my nerves, flickering between my legs.

  "Be careful of your wrist," I warn him.

  "It's fine." Atlan runs his fingers along the top of the corset, where it rests just under my shoulder blades. "How does this thing come off? Ah, never mind—I found the zipper." He leans behind me and plants three kisses along my spine—one at my hairline, another at the base of my neck, and one lower, between my shoulders. I shudder, closing my eyes and tilting my head back. He runs one finger up my throat. "Beautiful."

  "You're beautiful," I respond, half-opening my eyes. "How is it that wounds make you even sexier?"

  "I think you might be a secret sadist, Trouble, as well as an exhibitionist." There's a chuckle under the words. "You want to hurt me?"

  "No!" My eyes flare open. But my eyes flick down to his nipple, and I wonder, for a second, what it would be like to bite it, just a little bit.

  "Whatever you're thinking about in that gorgeous head of yours, do it," he says huskily. "We're here, together. We have time. I want to find out more about you—every dirty little fantasy, every hidden secret."

  Oh, hell. He means it—those neon-blue eyes of his are wide open, flooded with truth.

  "Drink first," I whisper.

  "Okay."

  The zipper of my corset slides apart, and when it falls away, revealing my breasts, his eyes widen even further. "God, Finley. You're perfect."

  I'm putty in his hands, completely malleable as he lays me out on the cot. He smoothes his palms over my shoulders, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. The touch of him is everywhere, heating my skin except where his rings trace a cold path—and somehow that contrast only heightens my sensory experience. His hands are comfort and pleasure, care and delight.

  Gently he eases my panties off my legs, so I'm completely bared to him. He nudges my legs apart and then looks at me, his fangs lengthening. "Finley, I want you to close your eyes now." His words slur just a little, as they usually do when he's in full vampire mode. The predatory glint in his eyes only turns me on more. My folds are so sensitive I feel like a breath on that tender space might make me explode.

  "Close your eyes, Trouble," he repeats. "And don't open them until I say. You trust me, right?"

  "Yes," I breathe, and I shut my eyes tight.

  Waiting.

  Tingling.

  Anticipating the first touch.

  A warm breath over my right breast makes me inhale sharply. Warm lips brush my nipple, sucking ever so softly, accompanied by the cool brush of hard fangs. Those lips whisper along the curve of my breast to the underside, where the flesh is full and heavy. A gentle kiss, a wet glide of his tongue, and then two points of pain that is not actually pain but deep, soul-satisfying pleasure. He drinks for a few seconds, and then sweeps his tongue there again, twice.

  I wait, forsaken and aching. Wondering where he will touch me next.

  Fingers, trailing between my breasts, across my stomach, below my navel—I arch a little, trying to bring those fingers to the place where I want them, but they withdraw.

  His mouth finds me instead, lips and fangs pressed to my inner thigh. Like he did the first night he fed from me, he sinks in deep, and I feel my blood flowing out of me through his fangs. I thrill with the knowledge that part of me will always be a part of him—that we will always have this dance—the two of us, releasing into each other, trusting and giving and taking.

  With one hand cupping my thigh, he drinks for about the usual length of time, stopping a little short out of caution and care for me. While he licks the holes made by his fangs, I whimper with helpless desire, slick and panting and wanting.

  "Shh." He cups his hand over my sex, a warm pressure that is calming, and not at all what I want. I want to be fondled and entered, teased and taken. "You're so impatient, Trouble."

  "Can I open my eyes?"

  "No."

  "Bastard."

  "I promised myself that when I got the chance, I would take my time with you, make you feel more pleasure than you ever have before."

  "I'm not feeling pleasure. I'm feeling frustration," I growl, with a little wriggle of my body against the sheets.

  "Don't do that." His voice is heavy with lust.

  "What? This?" I wriggle again, arching my hips off the mattress this time.

  "Are you trying to torture me?"

  "Fair is fair."

  "Fine." A broad sweep of his tongue across my folds makes me squeal with unbearable pleasure. He laps and teases, flicking his tongue over a certain very sensitive area, until I'm half-crying with agonized bliss.

  "Atlan," I pant, my eyes still closed. "Atlan, let me open my eyes. Atlan, I'm going to scream."

  "You can't scream." He pauses his ministrations to place a hand over my mouth. His body hovers over mine, heat and silky skin and hard muscle. "But you can open your eyes now. I want to look into them when you come."

  I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is his face—unbearably handsome, with a devilish smirk curving his mouth. He lays a beringed finger to his lips. "No screaming now. Promise me, or I'll have to stop."

  "I promise. Please—"

  "Of course, Master." With a wink, he returns to his place
between my legs. This time he arches my knees, spreading me wider. He plays with me, his fingertip moving around in tight, tantalizing circles before gliding down, dipping inside. His tongue again. His lips. Two fingers inside, deep, deep, and his mouth again—my mind blurs and bends, seeking and surging, cresting—

  I crash into a sea of scintillating ecstasy, waves of it mounting and breaking, shaking my entire body.

  Never have I ever—had an orgasm—this powerful.

  My legs are trembling. I can't move.

  Atlan's palm is pressed between my legs again, soothing me through the ebbing tide of pleasure.

  "Oh my god," I gasp.

  "Yeah?" His face lights up, boyish glee in his grin.

  "Oh yes. Hell yes."

  I'm drained, wiped out. Sated, I think—maybe.

  Maybe not quite. Not yet.

  I collect my melted muscles and sit up, pulling the tie out of my hair and letting it tumble around my shoulders. "Your turn."

  23

  Finley

  "I want you naked and on the bed. Now."

  Atlan's cheeks flush adorably, and he hurries to obey me, stumbling a little as he hops out of his pants. He curses, and I snicker.

  "Shut up, Trouble." He half-smiles, blushing deeper.

  "Sorry. It's just that you're usually so graceful."

  "You make me nervous," he mumbles.

  The admission pleases me more deeply than I'd like to admit. "Why?"

  He stands bared before me, with nothing to hide how much he wants me. "Because you are everything to me."

  The space between us is too big, too awkward, too unwieldy for such naked words. Things like that, things so close to the heart, must be said while we are touching; so I gravitate to him, comforting him with my body, with the glide of my skin against his.

  "You don't have to be nervous," I tell him. "I love you, and that will never change. Know that, and trust it and—let me play with you."

  "No problem." He kisses me, quick and excited, and lies down on the cot.

  "Close your eyes," I tell him.

  Grinning, he obeys. "Copycat."