The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp)

by J. R. Ward

  Meanwhile, as he stared across at her, his astonishing blue eyes were level. Calm. Reasonable. “I promise it won’t lead anywhere.”

  All she could do was shake her head at herself. “It’s not you I’m worried about,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She rubbed her eyes. “No, actually, I don’t want to lie to you. The truth is, I fear the taste of you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  One more thing to mourn, she thought.

  “I’m going to want all of you,” she replied roughly as she looked over at him.

  His eyes flared, as if she’d surprised him. And then he lowered his lids to half-mast.

  “I will never tell you no.” His voice was a sexy rasp as he spoke. “Not ever.”

  Before she could respond, he pulled up the sleeve of his tunic and extended his arm. “Take my wrist.”

  Her eyes locked on the veins that ran from the base of his palm up the inside of his forearm. They were heavy compared to her own, and beneath the cover of his flesh, she could see the pulse.

  Hunger surged and made her shake. From anticipation.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked him, thinking of that cell he had stopped in front of. That female he was so tied to, regardless of what he’d said.

  “You need me,” he replied. As if that explained everything.

  “When I came here in the dark,” she said, “I had nothing to guide me, and that increased my fear until I was choking on my paranoia. As soon as I was sure that I had not been followed, I lit one single candle. It increased my risk, but it was a small thing, and it grounded me. It kept me from losing it. If I can understand just one piece of who you are, it’ll be like that single candle. It will ground me.”

  Jack dropped his head. As the silence stretched out, she didn’t try to persuade him. He had to make up his own mind—and still his vein lay exposed between them, the temptation so strong, she clenched her hands into fists. She knew, though, that these were going to be among her last moments with him.

  “Or tell me why the female in that cell doesn’t affect us,” she prompted with a helpless shrug. “Just give me something to go on. Anything.”

  “There is no female for me.” His voice was hoarse. “Nothing affects us . . . because you are the only one I have. The only one I want.”

  “Truly?” she whispered.

  He took her clenched hand and put it to his heart. “On my honor, you are the only one who is held here. And I wish things were different for me, I truly do. They are not, however, and what I feel for you doesn’t change my situation.”

  Closing her eyes briefly, she was aware of a crushing defeat. But she was glad for the honesty because it gave her even greater faith in what he had revealed.

  She had her single, tiny flame. She had her orientating light. She had her grounding.

  And it was the one that mattered the most.

  “Take of me,” Jack said roughly, as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind.

  As he lifted his wrist to her mouth, his eyes were luminous, so bright and blue, that she felt as though she was falling into him. His big body was beautiful, and so was his face, but those eyes . . . it was the way they revealed his soul that called to her the most.

  With a trembling hand, she reached up and drew his long braid over his shoulder. “May I see you with your hair down?”

  There was a pause, and then Jack went to the leather tie that bound the thick end. He undid the strap, and then his fingers pierced through the bottom of the weave, starting to pull apart the lengths.

  “Let me do that,” she said.

  When he dropped his hands, she took over—and she took her time. Piece by piece, she unwound the tight plaiting, the dark hair lengthening as it was released from its confinement, the waves shiny and lit with blue-black flashes. Long . . . thick . . . smelling of sandalwood, his hair was luxurious in the candlelight, the ends extending down past his chest, onto his heavy shoulders and thick arms.

  Running her fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face, her breath caught. He had been handsome before. Now . . . he was transformed into something otherworldly, some kind of fallen angel or tortured deity, expelled out of heaven to suffer here on earth.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  By way of answer, he brought his fingertips to the high collar of his tunic. One by one, he freed the ties, revealing the strong column of his throat.

  “You don’t have to,” she said softly.

  “As I told you, I will never deny you.”

  “I didn’t know I’d spoken out loud to ask.”

  And as for the never denying her, that was true . . . except for when it came to leaving with her. But enough thinking about that.

  Jack pulled the tunic up and over his head, revealing himself to her naked from the waist up, his pectorals and ribbed stomach caressed by the firelight of the candles, his incredible hair spilling around everywhere, his stare alit with blue flame.

  “You don’t have to speak of it.” He reached across the electrified air between them and brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “What you want is in your eyes.”

  He moved his thumb to her lower lip, running it over her mouth before penetrating in and stroking first one, and then the other, of her fangs. With a moan, Nyx felt the contact down deep in her core, the licks of arousal tightening her nipples, making her pant.

  Jack purred, as if he knew what he was doing to her. Or maybe he was looking forward to what her canines were going to do at his throat. Both were different sides of a very good coin.

  “More,” he said, as he repeated the ring around her fang. “I want to hear more of that sound.”

  Giving in to the command, Nyx went limp, the blood hunger, the sexual starvation, overriding her senses. And as she lolled to the side, he gathered her to him, moving her into his lap, cradling her against his naked torso.

  “Take from me,” he said roughly.

  “Jack, are you sure?”

  “Never more so.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Don’t be.”

  Nyx moaned again as her eyes closed, the sexual current shooting through her body like someone had poured honey mixed with accelerant into her—and then lit the cocktail on fire.

  As he lifted her into position, holding her in his strong arms, she ran her hands under his hair, finding so much of his warm, smooth skin and very hard muscle. In the back of her mind, she heard him tell her she was his only female.

  That whatever was in that cell had nothing to do with them.

  And as she nuzzled into his neck, she thought to herself, Not the place, not the time, was a meaningless expression.

  Especially when it came to a moment like this.

  “Jack,” she sighed as she bared her fangs with a hiss and ran one of the sharp tips up his jugular. “Oh, Jack . . .”

  The Jackal palmed the back of Nyx’s head and held her to the vein at his throat. Closing his eyes, he was aware of his body coming alive, a sense of curling, urgent anticipation thickening his blood . . . thickening another place on his body, too. As his cock hardened, it crammed itself into an awkward, uncomfortable angle, but he didn’t care.

  He was too busy wondering what it was going to feel like. Her bite. Her suck. Her taking him inside of herself—

  Her strike was everything he had anticipated. Sharp. Decisive. Greedy.

  Jack gasped and jerked. Then his head fell back and he groaned. “Fuck . . . yes, fuck . . .”

  The cursing exploded out of him—and his erection kicked and bucked at his hips. But she had to get the nutrients she needed first. As much as he wanted her, this was about her survival.

  This was his strength amplifying her own.

  As she nursed against him, swallowing in a rhythmic fashion that made him think of his penetrations into her sex, he felt the urge to orgasm, to come inside of her, to fill her up as she d
rained him. There was also an overriding sense of very masculine satisfaction, that he was taking care of her.

  What he did not feel? For even a moment? Even one single heartbeat?

  Was any confusion about who he was with. There was no question that Nyx’s lips were the ones at his throat, that her fangs were what had punctured his vein, that her mouth was drawing at his blood. He knew exactly who he was with, and even as he absorbed all of the sensations, his body taking in the pleasure and the purpose like dry earth under a warm spring rain, he thought about her single candle, her need for a grounding.

  She was what shone through his darkness. She was the light that he had been drawn to, and now followed readily.

  Sweeping his hand up Nyx’s waist, he cupped her breast over her T-shirt and was rewarded with a moan from her that went straight into his arousal. As he caressed the rise, and focused his attention on the hard nipple, his hips began to roll, jerk, punch out.

  His body was seeking hers.

  And he worried he wasn’t going to be able to deny the impulse even though he needed to focus on her feeding—

  Nyx solved his internal debate by shifting herself about and straddling him. Then, without breaking the seal on his throat, she wriggled around, shucking her pants. How she managed to do it, he didn’t know. He was not in a position to argue, though. He sprung his erection, and—

  The sound that came out of his mouth as he slid into the hot, slick hold of her was like nothing he’d ever vocalized before. And as she continued to nurse at his vein, drinking deeply, he opened his mind and his soul to the feel of her as she rocked on top of his hips, his arousal penetrating and retreating, penetrating and retreating, all due to her movements. He wanted to help her somehow, but he couldn’t risk getting in the way of her feeding. She was the one in control, her mouth and her sex milking him, taking from him, using him . . .

  And he was consenting to all of it.

  He was not trapped. He was not being forced. He was not tied down and taken against his will, used for the pleasure of another without regard to what he wanted.

  This was his choice, and all the more sweeter, freer, better, for that. He was choosing her. He was choosing this.

  Nyx was his beacon in the darkness and he would give her all he could.

  No panic. No regrets. Nothing but . . . his female.

  This was the unexpected blessing that he had unknowingly been waiting his whole life for. And even though he was going to give her up, he would at least know he’d had such a connection once.

  He had known . . . love . . . once.

  As the word came to his mind, as the definition of the warmth in the center of his chest was made manifest, it shocked him so much that his eyes flew open.

  Love.

  As he focused on the ceiling of the pool’s cave, he was aware of his eyes getting watery, of his vision blurring. He was confused at first, and wondered whether water from up above had somehow dripped down onto his face.

  But that was not it.

  With his hands on her hips and Nyx riding him, with the pleasure overtaking him, so unexpected and so raw . . . what called the pain from him was not the now. It was the inevitable that he couldn’t avoid:

  When the Command came to take him once again.

  The leverage they had over him, and the control it gave them, was such that he could not say no, and he would be called into service soon— and this beautiful moment, this cleansing, affirming passion, would be replaced by the very thing that was worse than the false accusation that had landed him in the prison, and the loss of ten decades of his life, and the darkness that he had lived in and would continue to do so.

  The stain would return.

  Closing his eyes, he could not bear it.

  But Jack had no choice.

  Nyx could have stayed at Jack’s vein until he was dried out—and that was the problem. She had to force herself to stop drinking from him even though it was the very last thing she wanted to do. The taste of him, the dark wine down the back of her throat and in her body, the swell of power and strength from what he was providing her, were more intoxicating than any drug.

  And that was before the sex, the incandescent sex, was added as a chaser.

  She would gorge on him if she could.

  She was gorging on him.

  Then again, Jack was answering the call of her thirst unlike anything she could ever have dreamed of, and he was doing the same with her sex. He was filling her up, his massive erection kicking out releases in an unrelenting stream, and dimly, she wondered what it would be like to have him service her in her needing.

  The thought should have shocked her. It didn’t.

  In a rush of hot, naked, wild images, she imagined him being the one to ease the pain of her fertile time, pleasuring her and keeping the burn at bay, their bodies melding together and staying there for hours and hours.

  God, she wished they were both fully naked now.

  And yes, she wanted to keep this going for six hours. Eight hours. Ten. She was pounding down hard on his hips, his sex going in and out of hers, tip to base, over and over again, and he was coming and she was coming and they were coming together while she was drinking from him. It was all too much and she only wanted more. She wanted to be covered in him, slick from him, loose and dizzy and on another planet from the exhaustion of making love all night and day long. She wanted him to take her in all positions, in all ways—

  “Stop!”

  As she cried out, she crashed back to reality. In spite of the fantasy and the sex and the rush, she ripped her fangs from his throat and focused on the cave wall, panting, blood-lusted, still hungry.

  But she was terrified about taking too much from his vein.

  “Jack—” she blurted in a panic.

  “No, you haven’t killed me.” He smiled, even though there were puncture marks in his throat that were bleeding, twin trails tantalizing her, making her lick her lips. “Not even close.”

  As she stared down at him, she wanted to remember him like this forever: A slight smile on his beautiful lips, his hair flowing out all over his hard shoulders, a strange air of contentment surrounding him like a tangible aura in spite of how intense the sex was. He was beautiful as he penetrated her, as he so generously gave himself over to her.

  “I need to seal you up,” she said, mostly to herself—as a reminder that when she put her mouth back on him, it was not going to be to drink.

  “I wish I could tell you not to worry about it,” he whispered. “I wish we could just keep going.”

  And then he tilted his head to the side, baring the puncture marks to her. And yet she hesitated because she was that unsure of her self-control. He was so good, though. He was just so damned good.

  When she went to lean down again, her hips moved against his— and she was reminded that even though they had to stop the feeding, the sex could, and would, continue on. And going by the way his hands bit into her upper thighs, he didn’t want to end that part of things, either.

  “I wish you didn’t have to stop,” he repeated with a groan as he arched under her.

  Nyx licked the column of his throat, sealing him up, making sure he was safe. And as soon as she did the duty, as if he had been waiting for it, he rolled her over and settled in between her legs, his tremendous size forcing her knees wide, his heavy weight pinning her down.

  Looking up into his face, she threaded her hands into his hair. Breathing in deep, she knew that what was happening was special. Life-defining special. This was no one-night stand.

  It never had been.

  As he dropped his mouth to hers, she kissed him with everything she had, trying to communicate without speech that which she would have struggled to put into words anyway. And as if he understood what she needed from him, the rhythm he set was intense. She took every bit of what he gave her, especially as he hitched a forearm behind one of her knees and wrenched her leg high. The shift in position let him go even deeper and she scored his ba
ck with her nails.

  Jack pounded into her, her head jerking as her body absorbed the dominating force of him. She didn’t care about the hard rock she was on, or even whether someone would come and catch them in the middle of it. She wasn’t even thinking of the inevitable separation.

  All she had was the now, and she intended to live it fully.

  Memories of this were going to have to last a lifetime.

  The orgasm that went through her was so strong, her eyes squeezed shut and her hands clawed into him again. And as her core gripped his erection, milking him, holding on to him, he followed after her so that they both soared.

  It went on for so long, even though there were so many reasons to stop . . . but eventually, their bodies halted, and he rolled them to the side. As rough as he had been, his arms were gentle now, and she felt herself slipping into a post-feeding drift as she lay, hot and steaming from exertion, against his bare chest.

  Just as she was falling asleep, something registered in the back of her mind, something that her consciousness refused to release.

  “Why did you wish I didn’t have to stop feeding?” she murmured just before she fell asleep. “Not safe.”

  “Hmm?” he said in a groggy way.

  “Why didn’t you want me to stop?”

  For the life of her, she didn’t know why she was pressing the issue. What a weird thing to say.

  As if he agreed with that, it was a while before he answered, and when he did, she wasn’t sure whether she was dreaming or not: “If I could, I would bleed out in your arms. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be when I die.”

  Nyx’s eyes flared open.

  “Shh,” he soothed. “We have some time. Let’s just enjoy this for a little longer. Before we have to leave this all behind.”

  Come into the pool with me?”

  Jack wasn’t sure exactly how long he let his female rest. But when the same internal clock that had always helped him keep track of the guards’ schedules started to ring, he felt compelled into action.