by Kari Gregg
It wasn’t just his physical presence that made her heart pound when she sensed him nearby, though. It was the whole package. He seldom spoke and even more rarely to her, which was a relief because if he ever stared at her with those dead blue eyes, she might scream. During the trip from Illinois, she’d never seen him shaken, never seen him smile, or heard his laugh. He was gorgeous. Very true. But she suspected Garrick could kill and never warrant a single raised blip on a heart monitor. He had the emotional range of a Cuisinart.
So now she was drooling over a spine-meltingly sexy Satan incarnate who also happened to be a sociopath.
Great.
This vampire thing just kept getting better and better.
“Now you’re scaring her,” Luc said, his voice low and threatening.
Garrick caught her staring at him and arched an eyebrow.
Cheeks burning, she glanced quickly away.
She was scared all right.
Scared of the heat spreading through her hypersensitive body, scared of the electric tingle of awareness that made her feel so unbearably empty. Scared to feel all these wonderfully feral urges for—hello—a freaking vampire who had the charisma of a small kitchen appliance.
He’d touched her.
A casual stroke of one hand.
One.
And she was melting into a needy puddle.
Yeah, that was pretty fucking disturbing.
Garrick’s grip eased on her by slow, steady degrees.
She released the breath she’d been holding in a quiet rush and almost freaked because she couldn’t tell if the churning in her stomach was relief or disappointment.
“You’re young, Luc. You’ve yet to experience how the need eats at your honor, your sanity. After five centuries, you too will welcome death or madness. Didn’t you wonder how I found you so fast? I was in America in hopes Aidan would take pity on me and grant me the dignity of death. Had you not found Kate, we would have stood before the rebel council, you with your sword. To take my head.”
He threaded his fingers through the wispy ends of her hair.
Kate stilled, prey sensing the predator set to pounce, and angled her jaw toward him because, God, that felt good. Oh, and because she was a silly twit. A slutty one too.
Mustn’t forget that.
But she wanted him to tunnel his hand into her hair, pull her mouth to his. Her lips parted at just the thought of what he’d taste like, how soft his mouth would be, but so deliciously demanding.
Wanton need skittered up her spine.
“I would have thanked you for that kindness.” Garrick laughed, a toneless, chilling sound that made the hair on her nape stand at attention. “You may take my head yet. Mark my words—I am not to be trusted.”
His hand fisted in her hair.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Her body tensed in anticipation. Oh yes, anticipation. Kate was a realist. Call a spade a spade. So what if he was a psychopathic Cuisinart? She wanted him.
But he didn’t pounce.
Luc shifted beneath her instead.
Garrick released her.
When her eyes flashed open, the edge of Luc’s dagger drew a bead of blood from Garrick’s jugular.
Her heart jumped.
Her mind screamed no, and a tight ball of panic lodged in her throat as she imagined the knife carving through his throat.
“Not as sexy as a sword, but the blade will separate your head from your shoulders nonetheless.” Luc’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And I won’t care if you thank me.”
Chapter Five
He’d do it.
Kate didn’t know where the dagger had come from, but she read the truth in the ruthless glitter in Luc’s black eyes. He’d slash through Garrick’s neck with the same ease he’d spread butter on warm toast.
Kate gulped. Sick terror churned in her belly, not of Garrick but for him.
“Time is a luxury my control can ill afford. You understand that now?”
In spite of the dagger or perhaps because of it, Garrick’s gaze, always before so carefully empty, shone now with an agony of need and encroaching madness that ripped at Kate with the same ferocity as her fear. She should be afraid of him. And she was. Her mind shrieked in warning, but the awakening arousal inside her wouldn’t be denied, nor could she turn away from the torment he’d kept hidden away.
She lifted her hand, reaching for him before she realized she’d left the cradle of Luc’s embrace. She slid to Garrick, so close she steeped her senses for the first time in the woodsy, earthy scent of him, and her touch skated the hard line of his jaw.
Her eyes focused on the droplet of blood the dagger had released. Shaking with nerves and need, she batted the blade away. She swept rich scarlet onto the tip of her finger, distantly surprised by the slick heat. Kate drew it to her lips and licked the drop clean.
Her eyes snapped shut.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
Because it was good.
He tasted of heat and extravagant ferocity. The sharp slap of brutality that spiced his blood only added to the banquet even so stingy a sampling offered her. Where Luc’s blood was a safe harbor, Garrick’s was a tempest of dark promise.
She wanted more.
She needed more.
Shivery hunger streaked up her spine.
Her lashes lifted so that Kate stared into the dead blue eyes that had so frightened her before. Hers widened in stunned wonder. “You’re bleeding.”
She leaned forward to lick the wound clean.
“God have mercy.” Garrick’s body tightened. His hands fisted at his side, muscles cording. “Do something, Luc, or I swear before Holy Jesus—”
“No.” Luc grabbed her arm to jerk her back. “No, bébé.”
“What? Wait. Don’t.” Her voice quavered when Luc yanked her to his side. “I didn’t—I want…”
She didn’t know what she wanted.
Images, sensations—they all crowded her mind, made thinking impossible. Her body sang, as though long slumbering, she’d finally awakened. “Luc?”
Hissing curses through clenched teeth, Garrick lurched toward the door. “For God’s sake, Luc, she—I could’ve—”
“Me? You! She doesn’t understand how dire our circumstances are, but you do. She’s barely recovered from what David did to her—”
Ripped free of Garrick’s enthralling blood, still aching from the taste of it, she struggled in Luc’s tight grip. She wanted nothing more than to be away from them both. She flattened her hands over her ears while they railed and cursed each other. “Stop it. Stop, stop.”
“Shh, Kate. It’s all right. We’ve finished, I swear it.” The glare he focused on Garrick spoke otherwise, but Luc used the knife to slash at his neck, opening a vein. He pulled her to him. “Drink.”
“No!” She didn’t want Luc’s blood.
She wanted Garrick.
She stiffened.
Of course she didn’t want Garrick’s blood.
She wanted to run away.
Didn’t she?
Luc pressed her to the wound, and the hot, coppery taste of his blood filled her mouth. She would’ve resisted, but the smell of him hearkened to hazy memories of comfort and affection. The fierce arousal that had flamed so hot banked to a low burn.
Sighing, she nestled into Luc’s neck.
“That’s it, ma petite. Take what you need.” He stroked her hair, cupped her cheek in his palm.
“You’ll need blood. Come to the library.” Garrick paused in the doorway. “Alone. She’s safe for now.”
Luc lifted a languid hand to wave him out.
Neither man believed the lie.
Nor did Kate.
* * *
Garrick sprawled on a leather chair angled to form a conversation pit with an overstuffed couch he’d chosen for the library. He’d decorated the room with a blend of feminine prints, flounces, and light colors with sparse touches of oak and buttery leather to add texture. Glass-fr
onted shelves lined three walls floor to ceiling, the fourth wall tinted glass. Beyond it, the bayou at midnight was a wonder of nocturnal creatures and violent spears of green that faded to inky shadow.
He’d worked on this room alone for fifteen years.
But he worried about the chair.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“It’s the way of our people.”
Luc paced behind the couch, running anxious fingers through his dark hair. “Our people are brutal, primitive, and completely uncivilized.”
Garrick chuckled. “You must meet Peter.” At the young vampyr’s questioning frown, he tipped his head toward the swamp. “The pack’s alpha.”
“Weres.” Luc shuddered, staring into the darkness. “They’re out there? Now?”
“Yes.” His head fell back. “They are most eager to meet my Kate.”
“I don’t want those animals anywhere near her. I don’t know what you could’ve been thinking.” Luc scowled. “And she’s not your Kate.”
“She never will be, mine nor anyone else’s, if you refuse your responsibilities as her guardian.” His gut clenched. “If you turn.”
Luc rubbed his hand over his face. “I was in Nathaniel’s stable thirty years. You were there how long? A hundred?”
“One hundred and sixteen.” And another hundred and forty with his first master, before Nathaniel. Garrick had spent a quarter millennium in slavery—almost as long as Luc had been alive.
“And still you demand this of me.” Luc’s gaze skittered away. “Don’t you remember it?”
Garrick stared at him. “I try not to.”
Luc grunted. “Perhaps to someone else, I could do it.”
“Nathaniel has been dead three centuries, Luc.”
“We killed him.”
“Yes. We did. He’s dead, but until you leave what happened in the stable behind you, Nathaniel’s poison lives on. In you.”
He threw frustrated hands in the air. “Oh, for God’s sake. Not that again.”
“Yes, that again. The scars you carry from Nathaniel are keeping me from my mate, and if we must, we will deal with them one by one.”
Luc’s black eyes pleaded with him. “You can’t expect me to drain you. You’d hate me for it.”
“I’ll hate you if you don’t.” His lips thinned. “What happened in your suite should convince you of how perilous our situation is. My strength must be tempered.”
“Physically, you are the stronger, but I’m clever. I managed her—and you. My blade was to your throat when you needed to be checked, was it not?”
“You bested me.” Garrick chuckled at the perverse combination of irritation and pride that made his chest swell. “But you must not depend on me to underestimate you again. My instincts cannot be reasoned with, Luc. I won’t be able to resist them much longer. When I get past your sly defenses—and I will—how will you stop me, a creature who’s seen over five centuries? You’re barely more than a child.”
Luc frowned. “I was never a child.”
“No, you weren’t.” Garrick’s smile faded. “One of my many sins. Don’t make me pay for it now.”
Luc crossed his arms, his troubled stare returning to the bayou.
“You know our kind, what we are. What I’ve become.” Garrick’s hands fisted on the arms of the chair. His stomach roiled with sick dread. “For God’s sake, help me.”
Luc’s shoulders slumped. His breath left him in a defeated rush.
Anticipation and terror made Garrick’s heart pump faster, but with it, a cunning compulsion he hated. Because Luc would do it, and the young vampyr trusted him too much.
Garrick slackened his body, muscle by muscle, while Luc circled behind him. “If you’ve ever any doubt,” he said as Luc tipped his head back, baring his neck, “you need only drain me entir—”
“Shut up.”
Luc’s warm breath fanned the skin that covered his pulse. Anxiety and the fear no former slave could ever relinquish unfurled in the pit of his belly. Garrick gave the terror free rein of him. Luc would scent it on him. The young vampyr’s horror might make him sloppy, give Garrick an advantage.
That didn’t make what was to come easier to bear. Cold sweat beaded his forehead. “Be careful.” His voice shook. Buzzing filled his ears. “Take what you must, but don’t leave me helpless.”
“Don’t fight me.” Garrick’s eyes snapped shut when Luc’s incisors scraped his neck. “I can’t do this if you fight me.”
“Wait.” He couldn’t mislead him, couldn’t use their blood oath to manipulate him. “I—”
Luc’s teeth pierced his neck.
Garrick’s body jerked.
The guilty admission he’d thought to make died on his lips as Luc’s ruthless mouth sucked and pulled at the wound. His knuckles whitened against the arms of the chair.
Wood cracked under the pressure.
Garrick groaned as the first deadening effects of blood loss sapped his strength. His grasp on the armrests loosened. His limbs grew unbearably heavy. His heartbeat slowed. His lashes fluttered, then fell, the energy required to keep his eyes open too burdensome for him.
Minutes later, Luc lifted his head and mentally probed his old partner to ensure his body had suitably weakened. “Garrick?”
“Send Kate.”
Luc strode from the room, the young vampyr’s body vibrating with the influx of power from the feast of Garrick’s blood.
Then Garrick set the cunning beast hidden inside him free.
* * *
At the door of the library, Kate fidgeted with the hem of the sweatshirt Luc had found for her and wished for her own clothes.
The bathroom of their suite had been stocked with every kind of luxurious bath oil, lotion, shampoo, and soap. Lush perfumes and powders had filled the cabinets. Candles lined the Olympic-sized tub as she’d soaked the ache from her muscles, but when she’d crawled from its depths, the dresser drawers held nothing except expensive sachets. The suite contained not a stitch of clothing, not so much as a stingy pair of panties.
“I can’t keep walking around dressed like a bed,” Kate had said to Luc, glaring.
He’d smirked at the sheet she’d temporarily wrapped toga-style around herself. “Why not? It’s a good look for you.”
She’d scowled at him. “I’m not amused.” She pulled another dresser drawer open while he chuckled. Nothing. Annoyance prickled, and she encouraged the self-righteous indignation because, for now, it was stronger than her panic.
“Don’t vex yourself. Garrick must have something serviceable in his rooms.” Luc had pulled her trembling body to his, kissed her temple. “I’ll find clothes for you.”
He’d returned with the oversize Notre Dame sweatshirt she now wore that draped low on her thighs, striped pajama bottoms with a drawstring waist still in the package, and thick wooly socks. She felt ridiculous rolling the cuffs of the pajama bottoms and shirtsleeves to fit her much smaller frame, but at least she was decently covered.
Staring at the beam of light shining from the cracked library door, Kate was grateful because she would have never found the courage to push past the door in a sheet, no matter how decadent the satin.
Her breath caught when her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room. “Wow.”
Her feet seemed to sink to her ankles in the deep pile of the carpet when she stepped inside. Her gaze focused on a shelf to her left. She traced the grain of solid oak, enjoyed the smooth stroke of burnished wood under her fingertips. Recessed lights inside the etched glass doors of floor-to-ceiling bookcases highlighted first editions and slim leather volumes that probably cost more than her Mazda.
Her fingers itched to open the case, slide one of the rare books from its home, but she didn’t dare. Luc said Garrick had created overseas holding companies for her after they’d arrived. Among their kind, men rather than women traditionally provided a dowry as a guarantee should a pair-bond fail. So ownership of the estate and its contents had been transfe
rred to her, but…
It wasn’t real.
She didn’t own the house. She didn’t own the antiques that adorned every room, or the art, or the fleet of jeeps in the garage, and especially not the eye-popping yellow Mustang convertible enshrined in one corner.
“None of Garrick’s wealth is stolen,” Luc had told her. “Stealing from our prey would raise human suspicion, which our kind can’t afford. Even dark masters avoid it. So like the rest of us, Garrick hid away whatever appealed to him, but also coins, buttons… Given time, mundane items often become priceless collectibles.”
Kate couldn’t bear thinking about it.
So she concentrated on the books.
Lusted after the books.
On her salary, she’d been lucky to scrape together the cash for paperback novels and the occasional luxury of a crisp new hardback.
Handle these treasures?
No way.
She might smudge them.
She squinted at volumes on the nearest shelf.
Jane Austen. Bronte. Charles Dickens.
“What? No Nora Roberts?”
“The library displeases you,” Garrick said from behind her.
She whirled, her gaze lighting on the questions glittering in his glacial blue eyes before skittering from his languorous form sprawled in a chair. She took a step toward the relative safety of the hall before her mind overruled her instincts. Luc had sworn that Garrick wouldn’t present a threat, and her guardian stood sentry in the swamp outside, just in case. Her gaze flicked to the wall of windows.
“I am here.”
Emboldened by Luc’s whispery presence, she made herself move forward, but her bravery limited her to the shelves along the circumference of the room. “The books are…uh…great.” Hey, she liked the classics. Sometimes. She liked lots of things sometimes. “Very…uh…impressive.”
“If you can order this Nora Roberts online, the Kindle on the desk is yours,” he said, his voice warm and sleepy, “I’ll be an attentive and resourceful lover to you, Kate. Whatever you lack, if it’s mine to give, I promise you’ll have it.”
She stilled, her fingers frozen on the surface of a heavy oak table. A Kindle? Her heart skipped an ecstatic beat. Oh my God, he didn’t play fair, but she couldn’t be seduced by electronics. Even rocking, gotta-have-it electronics. She glared at him. “Don’t.”
