Blood Fury

by J. R. Ward

  As Ruhn looked over and nodded, Saxton felt a warm glow in the center of his chest.

  "You two are in love, aren't you," Minnie said abruptly.

  Immediately, Saxton cleared his throat, unsure of whether this was going to be a problem. "Madam, we are..."

  Just friends? That was a lie he would not speak. But Ruhn had crossed his arms over his chest and seemed as if he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

  "In love," Minnie echoed as she took one of each of their hands. "You know, love is the greatest gift the Scribe Virgin bestowed on her species. I'm happy to see it in this house again. Rhysland and I had so many years of it together here."

  Ruhn's exhale was accompanied by a release of his arms. And then he started to smile.

  I will remember this for the rest of my life, Saxton thought. This kitchen with the cupboard under the sink wide open, his hair and shirt wet, Minnie beaming like it was a festival night.

  It was the moment when he truly let himself go.

  --

  The little rich boy turned out to be a fearless, horny exhibitionist.

  As Novo danced against a tall female in latex, she only had eyes for Peyton: He was standing off to the side, watching her hands as they skimmed the woman's body, and her hips as she moved, and her ass as she turned around.

  He was starved for her. Even after all the sex they'd had, he was ready to go again...but only with her.

  Other women--and men--had approached him, performed in front of him, offered him all kinds of things, but he waved them away with impatience. And some of them had been stunningly beautiful.

  Peyton didn't give a rat's ass. He only seemed to see her.

  For a female who had been left for another, it was a revelation. In fact, she didn't know that she had needed to feel wanted this badly--but she was well aware that shit was a slippery slope to go down. You never wanted to be centered by another: Because when they left, and they would eventually, they took that part of you they'd filled with them and you were hollow once again.

  But for tonight? For this one night?

  She was whole, in a way that she thought she would never be again.

  And evidently, Peyton had had it with her being in someone else's arms. He strode over and all but shoved the woman out of the way. Then he was kissing Novo, his mouth full of demand, his body hard again, his hands rough and greedy.

  Next thing she knew, she was bent over something--she didn't know what and didn't care. And he was inside of her once more, pumping, pulling her braid like it was the reins of a bridle, her spine torquing under the pressure. Her orgasm was so intense, she clamped her molars together and felt the sting at the top of her head.

  Closing her eyes, she opened herself up to all of the sensation: the weakness in her thigh muscles, the rough material under her cheek, the compression of her breasts, and the slapping pounding that her sex was taking.

  Tears came to her eyes underneath her mask.

  With desperation, she tried to catch the tail of the emotion and drag it back into its cage, but she couldn't get the upper hand.

  It was as if the release opened the casket of everything she had held inside, the old pain rolling out like a corpse, the smell of it, the sight of it, too overpowering to be ignored.

  She sobbed in the darkness, into the mask, into the sex of strangers and the loud music.

  Opening her mouth, she screamed the pain out of herself, cast the past into the club's uncaring anonymity, used Peyton's fucking as the exit ramp.

  And no one knew.

  It was completely private.

  Eventually, Peyton fell upon her back, his heavy weight a beautiful grounding that brought her back to earth, his harsh panting in her ear a confirmation that he had been there while she had come through the ghost land, that she had not been alone, even if he had had no idea he was helping her.

  Moving her arm around, she searched for his hand. When she found it, she brought his palm forward...and kissed his lifeline.

  It was the closest she could come to thanking him for a gift he would never know he gave her.

  The healing had finally started.

  "Come back to my place."

  As Peyton opened the way out of the club for Novo, he prayed she said yes. He didn't want the night to end. He didn't want to spend the day anywhere else but next to her. He didn't want to wake up alone, without her.

  "What is your driver going to think of us?" she drawled.

  "I sent him away two hours ago. Come back with me."

  As she stopped and looked up at the sky, he followed suit. A thick cloud cover had rolled in, and there was a winter humidity in the air. More snow was coming.

  Who gave a shit about the weather.

  "My father is away on business," he said. "We'll have the place to ourselves. He took his butler with him, and the other servants are glad to have a night off. And okay, fine, so I told the driver to clear the house out or he was fired."

  Novo pivoted around. "Where do you live."

  "Is that a yes?"

  "No, it's a question about where you live."

  He smiled. "You never give an inch, do you? And my blood is in you. Follow the way. After we fuck in the tub, I'll make you Last Meal down in the kitchen."

  There was a long silence. Off in the distance a siren wailed. A horn honked. Three people spilled out of the club, the clutch of humans wrapped in each other's arms, laughing.

  "All right," she said.

  Peyton took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you."

  When she pulled away, he let her go. And then he closed his eyes and dematerialized. When he re-formed on the front lawn of his father's mansion, he had no idea whether she would actually show or not. She was like that. Hot and cold.

  His heart pounded as he stood in the snow, the wind rushing around and whistling through the evergreens at the edge of the property.

  Lights were on inside, and for a moment, he regarded the mansion as if through Novo's eyes. Would she like the old place?

  Somehow, that didn't matter, and not because he didn't care about her opinion. It was just that, for the first time in his life, the fact that none of this was really his hit him. His father's life, his bloodline's expectations, his social sphere's demands...he was not required to buy in to any of it, and maybe his addictions had represented his struggle to come to this realization.

  At that very instant, Novo appeared beside him.

  "Welcome to my humble abode," he murmured as he swept a hand toward the house's grand expanse.

  "You know, I thought it would be bigger." As he recoiled, she nailed him a good one in the arm. "Gotcha. This place is like a goddamn castle, are you kidding me."

  Drawing her in close, he kissed her on the top of the head--and was surprised when she let him. And then he took her to the front entrance. As he hipped open the heavy door, he was surprised at how tense he was.

  She walked in with those split leathers and her athletic body moving with power and her head up as she looked around.

  Her eyes seemed to miss nothing of the antiques and the grandeur, the crystal chandeliers, the grandfather clock and the tapestries.

  Pivoting to him, she said dryly, "You never mentioned you lived in the Smithsonian museum."

  "I hate to show off, you know." He kicked the door shut, the sound of the thing hitting home echoing up to the high ceiling. "It's fucking tacky. Come. I want to introduce you to my tub."

  As they went upstairs, she asked him how many rooms there were; he hesitated.

  "Come on," she chided. "Can't count that high?"

  "I'm not good with math, it's true." He took her to the left at the head of the stairs, down the corridor that had so many doors. "I'm going to guess fifty or sixty. Maybe more. There are parts of this place I've never bothered to go in."

  "I live in a single room. No, I have two rooms, a bathroom and an everything."

  "You'll have to show me sometime."

  "It wouldn't hold you
r interest any longer than a Kleenex box."

  He stopped in front of his bedroom suite. "It's yours. So I am very interested."

  Novo did the job with the knob, probably as a way to duck the intensity that he was throwing out. That was another thing he was learning about her--she was big into diversions, and this was not a surprise. The female avoided closeness at every turn, making him think of a bird landing and taking off at the slightest provocation.

  She did seem to keep coming back to his palm, though.

  God, she was so different. Unexpected. Fascinating.

  With a whistle under her breath, Novo walked into the enormous spread, checking out his bed, his movie screen-sized TV, his sofas, and the bathroom beyond.

  "It's so cozy, right?"

  She laughed. "If you're comparing this place to a hotel lobby, sure."

  He walked over to his dressing room, the doors opening on their own thanks to motion sensors. Inside, he stripped by the dry-cleaning hamper.

  When he came back out, he was naked. "You have way too many clothes on."

  "And you no longer have that problem."

  Her eyes gleamed as she kicked off her combat boots, disarmed, and peeled that muscle shirt and those ruined leathers. Then she stood before him in the flesh. Her body was...so amazing. Lean, muscled...incredibly sexy.

  "Fuck," he heard himself say. "You are the most beautiful female I have ever seen."

  "FYI, I'm a sure thing tonight. You don't have to compliment me--"

  "Shut up." He came forward and took her hand. "Until you leave this house at nightfall, just let me say what I want and be who I am with you, okay? I'm not asking you to pretend that you're one of those doormat females in a dress with their pinkies in the air over a teacup. But for the next bunch of hours, leave me alone with the corrections, okay?"

  She looked away. Looked back. "Fair enough."

  With that settled, he pulled her into the bath and started the water flowing into the tub. And in the mirrors, he watched as she wandered around and investigated sinks and towels, bathrobes and windows. She was so stunningly sexy, he nearly let things overflow onto the floor.

  "That is a pool," she announced. "Not a tub."

  "Wait," he said as she lifted a leg to get in. "Your hair."

  With a graceful twist, she turned to him. "What about it?"

  Peyton came forward slowly and took the end of the long rope where the band was. "Take it out."

  Before she could shake her head, he whispered, "Please. I just want to see you with it loose. Once."

  As a haunted look came into her eye, he braced himself for a no.

  Instead, she took the thing out of his fingers. "Let me do it."

  With her back to him, she brought the length around and there was some snapping as she undid the banding...then she was working the braid apart, unleashing acres of gorgeous black hair.

  When she was finished, she pivoted to him and pushed it all over her shoulders so that he could only catch sight of the part of it where the indent of her waist was. With her downcast eyes, and tense body, it was as if she were braced to be slapped.

  Reaching out, Peyton fanned her hair back into place.

  "You take my breath away," he said softly as he regarded the waves cascading down below her breasts, nearly to the cleft of her sex. "Now...and forever more."

  --

  It was just fucking hair, for godsakes, Novo thought.

  But the truth was, no one had seen her with the stuff loose since Oskar. And in the end, the only way she could stay with it down was by reminding herself, over and over again, that this was just for the day ahead. As soon as the sun lowered itself on the far edge of the horizon, she was going to tie everything back up again and set herself to rights once more, everything buttoned, braided, and bound, her emotions impenetrable once more.

  As Peyton started speaking to her, she heard more the tone than the syllables, and yes, he was telling her things that in her lonely, battered heart she was hungry to hear and believe--but which her self-preservation told her to shut out.

  She could not ignore the way he looked at her, though.

  Or the fact that he got down on his knees.

  His hands were like a summer breeze traveling over her thighs, her hips...her breasts. And his lips were velvet soft as he brushed them across her lower belly. When he hooked an arm under her leg and moved it over his shoulder, she went with him, allowing him the access he wanted. His mouth on her sex was so good, too good, slick against slick, heat against heat.

  Staring down past the hard tips of her breasts, she watched him work her out, his tongue licking free as he looked at her looking at him. His eyes were on fire, the sexual worship in his blood transmitting into his expression.

  She came once. Twice.

  Then she was on the soft rug on the floor and he was mounting her, his hard cock sticking straight out of his hips as he lowered himself onto her.

  She closed her eyes so she couldn't see him, so she could pretend it was some other male, any other male. The distance and insulation that lie offered seemed crucial.

  Except her body knew it was him.

  And oh, God...

  ...so did her soul.

  As Saxton sat beside Ruhn in the truck several nights later, he was unsure whether in fact hours had passed since Minnie had interrupted their liaison under the sink...or whether years, decades, or centuries had transpired. Indeed, time had become a rubber band stretching and releasing between extremes, moments and eons seeming to be one and the same.

  "It's up here," he said. "On the right. Number two-one-oh-five."

  "This one?"

  "Yes...this one. The Victorian."

  Saxton was very aware of a churn in his stomach as he braced himself to turn his head and look up at his former home. And in truth, he became absolutely nauseous as his eyes shifted over to measure the dark green, gray, and black paint job, and the cupolas, porches, and shuttered, long-paned windows. In the snow-covered landscape of winter, it was like something off a New England Christmas postcard, picturesque, perfect, and pretty as any painting.

  "It's beautiful," Ruhn said as he put the engine in park and shut things off. "Who lives here?"

  "Myself. I mean, I used to." He opened his door. "Come with me."

  Together, they got out and walked up the unshoveled path to the front porch. Taking out a copper key, Saxton unlocked the deadbolt and then he was pushing the big door wide, a subtle creaking releasing from the hinges.

  Ruhn was careful to stomp the snow off the cleats of his boots and Saxton followed the example, clapping his Merrells before stepping over the threshold. Inside, it was warmer than the great outdoors, but not balmy by any means. He had left the thermostats on at sixty-two back on Columbus Day weekend in October when he'd come to make sure the furnace was working. But other than that, no one had been in.

  It still smelled the same. Sweet old house. But it was no longer home.

  He shut them in and looked around.

  Like something out of a Vincent Price movie, all of the furniture, which was period, was covered with sheets and he went randomly into the front parlor and lifted up the corner of a king-sized draping. Underneath, the fainting sofa was classic Victorian, all heavy carved and veneered mahogany, the fabric a deep wine color.

  Ruhn came in behind him. "How long did you live here?"

  "Quite a while actually. I loved this house."

  "What changed your mind?"

  Saxton let the sheet fall back into place. "This is where...well, Blay and I would come here sometimes."

  "Oh."

  "After we broke up, I couldn't bear to be in these rooms." He walked farther on, proceeding into the library. "Too many memories."

  Behind him, Ruhn followed, and when he turned about, the male's expression was remote.

  "Which is why I wanted to bring you here tonight--" At the sound of the door knocker, Saxton focused over the male's shoulder. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

>   Saxton strode out to the front foyer, and it took him a moment of collection before he could open the door. But then he inhaled slow and deep and did the duty.

  On the other side, a tidy female vampire with a briefcase and hair that had been bowl-cut into an unfurled umbrella on top of her head was standing at attention.

  "Saxton, I'm so glad you called me, darling."

  Kiss, kiss on both cheeks. Pat, pat on his forearm.

  "I was surprised, but so very pleased to hear from you," she said as she came in. "I am glad that--oh, who's this?"

  Saxton closed them all in. "This is my...this is Ruhn."

  "Well." She marched right up and put her hand out. "It's a pleasure, Ruhn. Saxton has impeccable taste, and I can tell he's exercised it to his benefit once again. I'm Carmichael."

  Ruhn blinked and looked over in a panic, rather as if an exotic bird who was not house-trained had landed on his shoulder.

  "You mentioned you have a buyer for this place?" Saxton smoothed over.

  The distraction worked perfectly. Carmichael was instantly refocused.

  "I told you months ago that I did. When you bought that penthouse without me. Tsk, tsk. That was rather rude of you, but you are forgiven if you give me this listing."

  "You're selling?" Ruhn asked softly.

  "Yes." Saxton locked eyes with the male. "I find that I'm ready to let it go."

  "Well." Carmichael all but tap-danced it out. "This is splendid news. I have a listing form for you to sign right here."

  With admirable efficiency, she somehow managed to whip out a sheet and a pen from the briefcase without having to put the thing down: balance on a knee, pop the locks, out with the paper and a Bic.

  "Here. Let's get this done and I'll bring them through in an hour."

  With a pounding heart, Saxton took the listing form and the cheap pen.

  "While you sign that, I just need to confirm some dimensions." For that, she put the briefcase down, got out a tape measure and her iPhone, and headed off. "You're a lawyer. You know where to put your John Hancock."

  As her caffeinated footfalls clipped down in the direction of the kitchen, Saxton glanced at Ruhn.

  The male was standing close by, his hands loosely linked, his eyes calm, but worried. "You don't look like you're comfortable doing this."

  And that was when it happened. A feeling of total peace came over him, as unexpected as a blessing that had been prayed for by an agnostic. And it was grounded in the pale brown of Ruhn's eyes.