by Mel Teshco
She’d never allowed anyone to drink from her before. She’d always been the recipient, the taker. But now that he’d taken blood from her, she couldn’t drink his—she wasn’t in any hurry to be blood bound to a vampire for eternity.
She blew out a breath. Even in bloodlust, her body had never experienced anything quite so carnal, never responded so eagerly or savagely. Nor had she ever experienced this oneness with a lover, this connection. Bloody hell. She didn’t want this. Not now. Not ever.
Ronan raised a brow. He collected her dress and passed it to her, his eyelids sweeping half-mast over his lazily approving stare as he stretched back against the seat.
Naked and unashamed, he watched as she tugged the gown over her head. The material fell in a graceful line over her breasts before pooling in her lap. She adjusted the excess, her hands shaky as she carefully fixed it to cover the top of her thighs.
Ronan frowned. Then stooping forward, he opened the mini-fridge and took out a bag of blood. Hooking a fang into the corner, he ripped open the foil, licking off the droplet of crimson oozing from the jagged hole.
“Here,” he offered.
She hesitated. She’d never drunk donor blood from a bag, had never needed to. Since drinking from the warm vein of her first lover, she’d learned seducing men and taking their blood had been only too easy.
Of course, those men had believed that what they had shared was only sex—not their blood, too. It was a true gift of nature that her vampire saliva ensured they remembered nothing of her sucking on their throats.
“Please,” he urged. “I’ve depleted your reserves.”
His frown deepened, and he shook his head with what could only be described as self-disgust. “I’ve never lost such control. I took what I wanted…when it was you who needed blood most.”
She didn’t—couldn’t—answer. Her nose twitched, her body screaming thirst. She snatched the bag from him, lifting it to her mouth and tilting back her head before drinking its contents. Blood trickled down her chin, but she couldn’t have cared less. A heady, hot rush zapped through her veins and filled her with euphoria.
Ronan bent forward, scraping his tongue across her chin as he gently licked away the blood. “Good, isn’t it?” he murmured.
She leaned farther back, squeezing out the last few drops from the bag like an addict. She flopped against the seat, inwardly floating and replete in every way. “Yes.” Oh, yes.
“It’s the rare AB blood type, particularly sweet and beneficial to your kind.”
She turned to him, satiated drowsiness fighting sudden alertness. “My kind?”
His lips curved into a lopsided grin. “Yes. The antigens complement both vampire and human genetics.” He shrugged. “AB is a complete supplement for any rare hybrid dhampir.”
She wrestled against the lethargic bliss pulling at her body. She knew it wouldn’t last long. Soon—minutes, hours, it all varied—she’d be like an overactive child who’d scoffed down too much red candy. It was a trait purebreds didn’t appear to share. “And how is it you know so much about me?”
“An elder always recognizes one’s own kind, even if the blood is diluted.”
He retrieved his briefs and drew them on. With economical movements, he thrust his feet into his pants and shimmied them up around his lean hips. He zipped his fly and snapped the fastening, then drew on his socks and shoes. “With you, it was your distinct difference that attracted me.”
Damn. She knew next to nothing about their kind. She blew a breath, the hair on her brow lifting and falling before she closed her eyes, screening the bizarrely erotic vision of him dressing.
The limousine slowed and she opened her eyes. She swallowed. They were here.
He drew on his buttonless shirt and jacket. A half smile curled his lips, reminiscent of a cat who’d been offered a saucer of cream. He took hold of her ripped thong and tucked it into his pocket with care. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”
“Yes.” More than he could know.
His smile dropped and he pushed a hand over his face, then rubbed his thumb at the sudden crease in his forehead “You do realize, once you cross the threshold, there’s no going back.”
A shiver of disquiet slid down the length of her spine. Was it possible this vampire liked her enough to care? “I don’t have a choice.”
He stayed silent as she turned away, and she was grateful for his insight. Vampires were glacial, hard. After centuries of life, she hazarded a guess that most suffered from world-weariness. And yet it seemed Ronan was different.
She peered out the window, the switch to vampire sight reflexive as she took in the bleak and derelict suburb, where cigarette butts and filth choked the street.
The chauffeur pulled in beside a huge, desolate warehouse. “This is the dark lord’s hideout?” she asked, turning back to Ronan with dismay knotting her belly.
“Yes.”
Shit. Little wonder Sean had been so hard to find. For a vampire so obscenely rich, this place reeked of deprivation. Graffiti splattered the grimy brick walls and broken glass sprinkled the rutted asphalt like snow.
The chauffeur swept open the back door and stepped aside with a formal bow, as if they’d just arrived at Buckingham Palace. Minutes later, Kia turned to watch as the limousine’s taillights retreated into the darkness.
She shivered. A chill breeze carried the smell of damp and decay. It snapped at her thin dress and tugged at her hair.
He reached out, trailing the back of his hand down her cheek. “You’re cold. If I’d known we’d end up here, I would have warned you to dress warm.”
Vampires—including rare part bloods—never fell ill. They did, however, feel the cold. All experienced pain the same way humans did.
“Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
Warmth enveloped her, a shield to the elements. “Thank you.”
She allowed him to draw her toward the warehouse, where he swept open a heavy steel door as if it were mere tissue paper. The place wasn’t locked, but then only a fool would go inside without permission.
It boggled her mind that Ronan had the nerve to open the door without knocking or showing some identifying gesture. He must have a close alliance with the Ancient One.
She dared not enter, but her eyes pierced the darkness that lay thick and heavy within like impenetrable fog.
Curtains covered the windows, blocking out the sunlight to protect the hypersensitive eyes and skin of a full-blooded, nocturnal vampire.
Vampires might have the golden skin of a species who were eternally healthy, but they couldn’t tolerate the sun. Even she had to be careful outdoors, and stringently protected her skin, which burned easily. She could only imagine how sensitive a pureblood’s skin would be to sunlight.
The building—one huge open room—was magnificent. If outside was dank and disgusting, inside was exquisite. A brilliant hideout.
Beautiful rugs, which looked to be Turkish, warmed a polished wooden floor. Antique furniture from across the globe created an eclectic and eye-catching ambience. A huge table with eighteen or twenty high-backed chairs took center stage at the far end, close to where a high-tech kitchen gleamed in chrome.
The Ancient One needed to eat? Obviously he entertained humans on occasion, fed them before feeding on them.
“Wow.” It no longer seemed so hard to imagine Sean lived here.
Ronan chuckled. “I take it you like what you see?”
She summoned an answer, but before she realized his intention, he caught her hand in his before he tugged her inside behind him.
Breath whooshed from between her clenched lips. No! She swiveled toward him, her heart galloping at double speed. The fool had crossed the threshold—uninvited—into the great vampire’s lair.
Ronan gave a half smile and murmured, “Welcome to my home.”
Chapter Four
Her throat went dry. A roar in her ears intensified then receded, dizzine
ss assailing her as carefully withheld emotions spilled free, overwhelming and intense. She stumbled, and Ronan—Sean—steadied her with an iron grip.
“You’re Sean?” she whispered, dazed. But it all made so much sense in hindsight. She’d been so blinded by him, her thoughts so scattered, she’d never once registered that her senses didn’t buzz forewarning as they did with other nightwalkers.
Hysteria surged, a bitter laugh almost spilling free. He wasn’t just any other vampire. He was the Ancient One, a dark lord whose unearthly aura was effortlessly contained. He had more power, more control and more knowledge than she’d probably ever have even if she did happen to live to his present age.
It was rumored he was a freak of nature, a gifted elder vampire, to have thwarted so many enemies and survived such a lifespan.
“Sean Edward Ronan Maximillus”—he swept a theatrical bow—“at your service. But, please, call me Ronan.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked. “Why play games with me?”
His hard stare appeared to soften. “It’s never been a game,” he rasped. “I desire you like no woman ever before.” Grooves etched into his smooth brow. “Is it so bad to have you want me, for me? And not because I’m the Ancient One?”
Something joyous quivered to life within her, but the emotion quickly dissolved, even as the blood drained from her face. Lightheadedness receded, but her pulse jumped in alarm. Had she come all this way, searched frantically for the Ancient One, only to discover he couldn’t help her mother after all?
His frown deepened, a mocking glint in his stare. “I’m not that big a disappointment, surely?”
“I thought… I’d hoped, you could help me,” she whispered.
He stepped closer, his hand curling around her arm once again before he drew her to a low and comfy lounge. He sat beside her, all lean animal grace. “What makes you imagine I can’t?” he asked.
She pressed a hand to her brow, looking straight ahead. “I thought you’d be different.” She turned to him. Her hand dropped and she shrugged. “Older.”
“You expected some evil, pasty-faced vampire straight out of a horror novel?” At her silence, he clucked his tongue and said, “You really have been kept in the dark. Such a shame.”
She raised her chin. How could he possibly understand her deep-seated mistrust of her own kind? She swallowed past the tightness in her throat and admitted, “My mother brought me up as mortal.”
If he disapproved, he didn’t show it. Even so, she found herself leaping to her mother’s defense. “If she hadn’t, vampires would have killed her—just for her awareness of the immortal race.”
He crooked a dark brow and said softly, “You don’t seriously believe your presence wasn’t noticed, do you?”
“What do you mean?” But the sinking feeling deep in her belly confirmed her growing suspicion.
“Youngling vampires may have been fooled by your humanness, but the elder of our species certainly weren’t.”
“So you knew about me?”
“Yes.” He smiled, looking all too unrepentant. “Half-breeds are extremely rare. We keep track.” His eyes darkened. “And we’ve never made it a practice to kill off mortal parents who understand how to keep quiet.”
Kia’s mind swam. She didn’t know what to think, what to feel. In just the last few minutes alone she’d experienced every emotion possible. Her eyes closed for a moment. When she next looked at him, his smile had softened.
Her breath snagged. She wouldn’t be fooled, wouldn’t trust this man—this vampire—for even a second. He’d already let her assume he wasn’t immortal, wasn’t Sean. She’d be even more foolish to think he wouldn’t identify every trick in the book and then some. He’d have practiced manipulation until it’d become a fine art.
Her shoulders sagged. It was all irrelevant in the bigger scheme of things. “Then…you must know that my mother needs help.”
He didn’t reply. But once started, she couldn’t stop herself from speaking the awful truth. “She’s sick. Dying. The only possible cure is blood from the Ancient One.” Her insides raw, she linked her hands and clasped them, almost prayer-like, beneath her breasts. “You.”
“You seem to know so little about my race. What makes you imagine elder blood, my ancient blood in particular, would help your mother?”
“I mightn’t know much about nightwalkers,” she admitted, “but I know a little. Even mortals have heard about the legendary healing properties of the Ancient One’s blood.”
He stared at her for a long moment, unblinking, his expression unfathomable. Then he stood, his face still unreadable. A mask. “You are willing to do anything for this cure?”
Her senses screamed warning, jangled like chimes before an approaching storm. Oh, hell. She had misread him, trusted him. Right now, she could see nothing yielding or kind to this vampire, nothing but pure self-interest governed by almost limitless power.
She jerked to her feet, backing away a few steps as growing anxiety clawed within.
Bitterness edged his voice, stopping her in her tracks as he drawled, “Your reaction is why I never told you who I was.”
She cast him a chilling glare and his lips curled at the edges, a smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes when he added, “I prefer your hate to your fear.”
She didn’t fear him. Not really. Not deep down. But did she hate him? She should, perhaps she did. Yet she was drawn to him still, fascinated by him.
Her hands clenched into fists. “Vampires fear you for good reason.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged, his mouth drawing tight. “I haven’t lived this many years by being soft. I’ve had to make difficult, even painful decisions. Being the Ancient One hasn’t come without a price.”
He raked a hand through his hair, emitting a sigh. “When you mistook me as a human and chose me as your lover, I knew right away I’d do everything in my power to keep my identity secret and stop who I was from coming between us.”
“At the expense of my mother?” she whispered, dazed, disbelieving.
“At first, yes.”
Her breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat. “And now?”
His eyes glittered in all their silver glory. “That all depends on you.”
She felt her eyes heat in response as she lifted her chin. Her mother had made great sacrifices for her, now it was time to return the favor. Squaring her shoulders, she glided toward him. She stilled and looked up. “Then I say yes.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “Yes, I’m willing to do anything for her cure.”
He smiled, genuinely smiled. And in that moment she read his satisfaction, and maybe even relief. The tips of his fangs appeared, and she knew he was aroused without having to view the unmistakable bulge between his thighs.
His stare every inch possessive and steely and wise, and so very, very old, in that moment she saw the real him. The vampire who’d lived many centuries and experienced more than she could comprehend. A vampire with power and intelligence beyond anyone she’d met.
She couldn’t help but wonder again how she could have been so blind. Even after she’d discovered he wasn’t human, she’d never once questioned that he, a vampire, could be the Ancient One.
He nodded. “I do believe you would.” He shrugged out of his jacket and leisurely slipped off his gaping shirt. Bare-chested, he tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck. “In that case, drink me.”
No! Not that.
Her eyes widened. She reeled backward. Her calves hit the lounge and she thudded back onto her rear. Shit. She’d heard he was merciless and cold. Discreet whisperings of his cruelty had reached even her ears—but to ask this of her?
Words somehow churned past the thick lump wedged in her throat. “You’ve already drank from me. If I drink from you, we’ll be bonded”—she swallowed rising terror—“our shared blood linking us body and soul. Blood-tied!”
“For eternity.” He nodded sagely. “Yes.”
“You hardly know me.” I don’t know you.
“I know enough.”
Of course, he did. He’d been around long enough to discern what he liked, what he didn’t.
He leaned down and grasped her hand. His touch sent a frisson along her skin before humming through her veins like electricity. “We have the rest of tonight. Tomorrow, you will take me to your mother.”
She jerked away, but paused when he sent a warning stare. And suddenly she knew this was her one and only opportunity, and she hated that he’d taken all choice away from her. Hated that he’d duped her again and again, and that she’d been naïve enough to let him. Hated him for using her mother’s fatal illness to force her to his will.
Something improbably close to remorse flickered across his face, but she realized she’d been mistaken when he pulled her up and caught her close.
“Such passion,” he murmured. “I look forward to our time together.”
She trembled, despising him with all her being. And though his mouth settled onto hers like a rasp of silk, his tongue pressing past her lips and tasting within like an expert connoisseur, she wasn’t about to melt against him.
It took all her willpower to remain still, not to react and stay passive under the passionate mouth that so effortlessly claimed hers.
His head reared back, his eyes burning like hot coals. “Dios. You cannot fight against your blood instincts.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll sure have fun trying,” she hissed.
His eyes glazed red, and she realized her challenge had sent him over the edge. She smiled, her fangs pushing against her gums until they burned and ached while she fought, and won, control over her physical response.
Her downfall would be on her terms, not his.
She was strong, lethal, but she had no chance against him physically or mentally. He was the Ancient One, king of the vampires, lord of the secret race. He’d outlived many a cunning, powerful and swift nightwalker.
She knew hunger shone from her eyes as everything blurred red at the edges. He moved toward her, expectant, hungry, but she stepped aside. “Sit down,” she ordered.
