by Kiersten Fay
Her shoulders slumped. “I’ll give you control.”
His grin was downright sinister. He indicated Meeka with a tilt of his head. “Send the beasty away. Wouldn’t want any interruptions like last time.”
She stiffened. He wanted her to banish her only protection. He wanted her vulnerable. Prey to his predator.
She reminded herself that he’d promised not to kill her. But, oh, weren’t there worse things than death? Hadn’t she experienced them first hand?
Reluctantly, she ordered Meeka upstairs, hoping to at least keep her close at hand.
Knox shook his head. He crossed to open the front door and pointed into the darkness that had settled outside. The feline grunted in objection, but stalked through the living room toward him. Meeka and Knox exchanged sneers as her big paws stepped through the threshold.
With a careless flick of his wrist, the door closed. The ominous thunk reverberated through the room.
“Turn around,” Knox said to her, almost toneless.
It took her mind a second to kick her body into action. It made her hackles rise to do so, but she gave him her back.
“Hands on the wall.”
Her fingers clutched into tight fists before she lifted her arms and flattened her palms against the wall. She caught the sound of him moving through the room—not towards her. Then the fluttering sound of something soft, fabric maybe, made her want to whirl around to see what he was doing. But when he approached, she just wanted to vanish. Her heart picked up speed with every step that brought him closer. Soon the heat of him was boring into her back.
Her muscles tensed.
A dark-colored material fell over her eyes and was tied behind her head, blinding her.
“Knox?” Her voice shook. She reached to remove the blindfold.
“Ah-ah,” he chided in a roughened timbre. “Hands.”
Trembling, she resumed her position. Even though she couldn’t see, her eyes smashed shut. “I don’t think I—”
“No speaking.”
“I can’t do this,” she protested, yet remained still.
He whispered in her ear, so close her skin took on his temperature. “Do you think I’m going to fuck you?”
She shuddered. “I—”
“I recalled telling you not to speak.” His roughened tone had dropped several octaves, yet he didn’t sound threatening. It would have been better if he did. “Answer only with a shake of your head. Open your mouth again, and I’ll find something to fill it with.”
She swallowed, clamping her teeth together. Had he been smiling when he’d said that? Anticipating? How far was he expecting to go with this charade? Was this his way of humiliating her? Vengeance for having been bonded and imprisoned?
“Now I asked you a question, my sweet frightened Coraline. Do you think I’m going to fuck you?”
She nodded, cringing at the same time.
“As much as I’d like to, I’m not as depraved as you think I am. Well, for the most part. Although, if you happen to come while I’m feeding from you? Well, I can hardly be held responsible for that, now can I?”
She nodded vehemently.
He chuckled, a deep husky sound that traveled over the flesh at her neck. She couldn’t keep her shiver at bay, or her breaths from shallowing. She knew what to expect when his fangs pierced her, and was loathed to admit it would be exquisite. Her lower half clenched, her knees knocking together.
One sharp fang grazed a short path along her neck, but did not pierce skin. His lips feathered over her pulse point. Her blood rushed wildly.
Against her skin, he muttered. “You are mine, Coraline.”
She shook her head, wanting to verbalize her rejection with a big fat no!
“That wasn’t a question.”
Strong hands caught her by the waist and tugged so that her hips jutted out slightly. Her backside met the masculine curve of his body. Her hands remained on the wall, but clenched into fists.
He nuzzled her neck once more. “Deny it all you want, won’t change the facts.”
Her head hadn’t stopped shaking as he spoke, but she froze when both points of his fangs touched the skin at her collar. She sucked in a breath, bracing herself. The darkness of the blindfold meant she could only focus on the slow, measured caresses of his hands at her waist and the feel of his teeth on her neck. Before she realized it, warmth permeated over her entire body, crashing toward her lower region. Why was her body responding when her mind rejected?
Knox rumbled an approving sound, letting her know he could tell how strongly she was reacting. And he hadn’t even bitten her yet!
Conditioned response, she reasoned. That’s all it was.
“Ah, that scent. It tortured me for a week. Clung to me like a summer moss. Drove me mad.” He stilled, and she sensed a change in him. “As I’m sure was your intention.”
She shook her head again, adamantly refuting his allegation.
One of his hands shot up and fisted the hair at her nape, halting her movements, yet not hurting. “Just keep on denying it, cher.” He forced her head to the side, opening her neck to him, and then sank his fangs deep.
She cried out from the sudden and intense ecstasy that blasted through her.
——
Mace ground his teeth together, wanting to bash his fist into something. He settled for pressing the gas harder. His hands are on my woman and there’s nothing I can do about it!
Not without breaking age-old laws.
He consoled himself with the knowledge that the wave of pleasure he was gleaning off Cora was inspired only by Knox taking sustenance from her. At least that’s what he told himself. Any of the alternatives were unthinkable.
The more distance he put between himself and Cora, the dimmer their connection became, until he could scarcely tell what she was feeling at all.
It was a mixed blessing.
He let out a harsh breath. Then an odd tingling sensation rolled over his collarbone. He traced it with his finger, finding the skin there smooth, yet unusually warm, almost hot to the touch. He focused the rearview mirror on his neck, seeing nothing out of sorts. Righting the mirror, he dismissed the anomaly.
Moments later, he pulled up to Wicked Wares. The lights were off. A quick check of the door confirmed that Saraphine had locked up for the night.
To be sure, he stood quietly, listening for any sign that she might still be within, that she might be in trouble. A raised heart beat? Muffled voices?
Nothing.
All was quiet.
If Cora wasn’t counting on him, he’d wash his hands of Saraphine and head right back to the cabin. He had a feeling she’d need comfort after dealing with whatever Knox was putting her through. He wished he could be there for her now, but it was probably best this way. As much as he abhorred the entire situation, they were going to be stuck with Knox until his bond with Cora faded, and they all needed to figure out how to co-habitat without wanting to kill each other.
Knox had better be behaving himself.
Mace caught the faintest remnants of Saraphine’s scent leading to the north. He followed it. Several blocks later, he found the end of the trail: a local restaurant called The Pork and Bone.
Through the window, he spotted Saraphine sitting across from that suspicious fellow from earlier. They were both smiling, full drinks in hand, leaning toward each other in companionable conversation.
Maybe they had been wrong about the boy. Could he be nothing more than a young man interested in a beautiful young woman?
Still, he should at least caution Saraphine.
——
“…so I hid the vial under my bed, but when Gran came in, the smell must have been like a solid wall of stink. I was so stubborn though. I played dumb when she asked about it.” Sara laughed, enjoying Devon’s tiny amused grin. “But then the vial started bubbling over and oozed out from under the bed—a big ole sticky pile of spell-gone-bad.”
“You sound like you were a little terror.” D
evon sipped his beer.
“Was?” She winked.
He nearly spit out his drink.
She snickered. It had been a while since she’d had such a good time. She actually thought her lips might crack from smiling. Apparently the best prescription for the blues was the attention of a charming, sex-on-a-stick hottie. Who knew?
“I’ve been doing all the talking. I’m sorry. Tell me something about yourself.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You’re a witch, aren’t you? That’s how you know all that stuff about vampires, right?”
He’d actually given her a lot to think about in that regard. More precisely, a plan.
There was a hardness to Devon that engrossed her. Like her, he seemed to be an outcast. A loner. His steely gaze suggested a life on the fringe. The tightening of his lips every so often when he clearly wanted to join her in her reverie indicated he was unused to setting them free from their natural frown. And his long, graceful fingers, currently cupped into a diamond shape over the table, revealed a calculating persona.
Perhaps he was just nervous, checking his responses so as to impress her. How cute would that be?
“A terror and a detective?” he replied.
She smiled coyly, then chirped, “Surprises is me.”
His grin sent a flutter through her stomach, even though it clashed with his ever-serious eyes. She stifled a ridiculously girlish giggle by bringing her drink to her lips. What was this? Her third drink? Fourth? Devon had already downed five at least.
She nearly choked when she spotted Mace across the room beating a path toward them. The scheme she had concocted, with a little help from Devon, made her suddenly nervous. What if the vampire had overheard?
When Mace reached them, his tone was as stern as his visage. “Saraphine, may I speak to you in private?”
“Uh…” She glanced at Devon, unsure. His illegible expression was of no help. “Sure.”
After only another moment’s hesitation, she stood and followed Mace outside.
“What’s up? Is everything okay with Cora?” she inquired, hoping Mace attributed the nervousness in her voice to concern.
“She’s fine. She’s back at the cottage. The talisman you gave her seems to be working. But she wanted me to come here and warn you to be careful around that man you’re with. He could be dangerous. You know she has people after her, and—”
Sara bristled. “Oh, come on. Not everything is about Cora! Devon is a nice guy, and he’s interested in me, not her. Tell her to watch out for herself and stay out of my business. We’re not BFFs.”
With that, she pivoted around and marched back into the restaurant.
After she huffed back into her seat, she noticed Devon’s shoulders under the dark leather jacket were now bunched. He had a cell phone in his right hand as though it had just been in use.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Sorry, Sara, but I need to run. Something’s come up.” He stood, not even giving her a moment to absorb before he headed toward the exit.
“Oh, alright,” she called after him. “I’ll…uh, see you around, I guess.”
He flicked his hand back in a halfhearted wave, and then was gone.
A little stunned, Sara sat quietly for a time, staring after him, bewildered.
“’Scuse me, love.” Maud, their waitress and part-owner of The Pork and Bone strode up with the bill in hand and placed it in front of Sara. “No rush, sweetie. I’ll take that whenever you’re ready.”
——
Cora was in their room upstairs when Mace found her.
As best she could she tried to block her myriad feelings: confusion, guilt, self-directed deprecation, and many other volatile emotions that bobbed in between, some of which she didn’t even want to acknowledge.
“Are you alright?” He sat on the edge of the bed where she’d been hibernating ever since Knox had relinquished his command.
She nodded. “I’m fine. It wasn’t as bad as expected.” A feeble smile followed. “He only bit me.”
That was the grade-school version. She refused to divulge the depravity-fueled desire Knox had somehow inspired in her. She rejected it with everything in her.
“He didn’t harm you or…take liberties?”
“No. He kept his promise not to hurt me.”
She’d been surprised when Knox had only taken sustenance from her, betraying but a single groan against her flesh before releasing her and returning to watch his kung fu flick. Only now did she realize Knox had never promised not to take her. He could have. She’d been all too willing once the drug of his bite had taken effect.
She averted her gaze from Mace. Ashamed.
His strong hand moved to her chin, guiding her to look at him once more.
“Don’t,” he said. “I understand the temptation of a vampire’s bite. I was once human myself, after all. You can’t blame yourself for what it made you feel.”
But could she blame herself for what she still felt? Desire continued to pulse inside her. Torment her. Not as strongly as those times when she’d imbibed too much vamp blood, but equally maddening. She worried there was something inside her growing out of her control, something insatiable, carnal, lascivious. Something that had always been there, but that she had managed to suppress—like a socially unacceptable tick.
“It hasn’t lingered like this before,” she admitted, not entirely sure how far back she was referring to. A shiver punctuated her statement.
His brow displayed only the slightest surprise before he schooled his features. “Then let me care for you.”
He stretched his large body next to hers and ducked his head to kiss her. She greeted his lips with a burst of desperation she didn’t realize had been so tightly constrained. Her hands reached up to run her fingers through his smooth, chocolate-colored hair. Her legs wrapped his waist. Her mouth molded to his as she heaved in harsh breaths.
Her mental walls crashed, and the entirety of her need exploded outward.
Mace gasped and pulled away. He studied her with a combination of shock, curiosity, and the most beautiful, unadulterated lust—then something like realization flowed into the mix and his expression faltered.
Before she could ask what he was thinking, his lips claimed hers, this time more demanding. Extreme cravings overwhelmed her again, and she was ripping at Mace’s shirt.
He shrugged out of it to thwart her from tearing it to pieces. His pants followed. Her clothes were disposed of just as quickly.
Then the blissful warmth of skin on skin.
She luxuriated in the feel of his lean muscles moving under her fingertips, and she explored without reservations: his shoulders, his well-defined chest, his delicious abs.
As he kissed her harder, masculine hands caressed her outer thighs and backside. A form of insanity nearly threatened to overtake her when his heavy member teased her core.
“Please,” she heard herself begging. “I need you now.”
“I find it impossible to deny you, Cora, but I should be helping you to control this, not urging you on.” His lips trailing softly along her jaw toward the crook of her neck belied his perplexing words.
Why did he sound so reluctant?
And why in the hell should she temper her desire for him? She was exactly where she wanted to be, doing exactly what she wanted to be doing.
Her nails scoured his back when he nipped her neck, coaxing him to continue.
He didn’t disappoint.
He rolled over her, pressing her back into the mattress, then forced her arms up above her head. “You want me to lose control?”
She grinned mischievously.
“Oh, that smile. You don’t play fair, love.”
Chapter 9
The next day, Cora tried to reach out to Saraphine. She’d borrowed Mace’s phone and found a spot outside to be alone.
“Wicked Wares,” Saraphine’s lilting voice answered on the third ring. “Your one-stop shop for all things awesome. How may I be of service
?”
“Hey Saraphine, I’m just calling to—”
“Cora?”
“Yeah, I was worried—”
“Unless you’re ready to hand over Knox, we have nothing to talk about. And I don’t need your concern.”
Click.
O-kay. That didn’t go as well as expected. Mace had said she’d been surly the night before, but Cora had hoped she’d be open to conversation.
She let out a sigh and lowered Mace’s phone to her lap, aimlessly flipping it around in her grip. Then she recalled Knox mentioning photos of her on the very device in her hand.
Curious, she navigated to his photo album. Her image in profile popped on screen. She swiped to the next one, similar to the first. Then the next, and the next. All of them taken from various angles, various distances. Some of them were so close she couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t noticed Mace before meeting him that day at the hotel.
She stood and began to pace, scrolling through the endless snapshots. She recognized many of the backdrops as places she used to frequent. Almost always, she had a look about her that could only be described as melancholic or maybe defeat. She didn’t recall being so sad, but her expression declared otherwise.
In one of the pictures, Cora was attached to the arm of a man that stood out of frame, cut off at the shoulder. He wore a debonair looking suit. Most likely the arm belonged to Winston, however, she was the focal point. Wasn’t Mace supposed to have been tailing both of them? Where were the pictures of Winston? All Mace ever caught of him was a body part off camera, a leg, a shoulder, an arm. If he was fully in the picture, he was across the room, fuzzy, and still a bit out of frame, or blurred in the background, walking away from Cora. But she was always in focus.
She came to the last picture in the bunch and blushed.
This was the only image Mace had taken of her with her knowledge. It had been the day after he’d given her his blood in order to save her life, subsequently bonding with her in the process.
