“No. It’s not.” Turning, he left the room, feeling hollow inside, lonelier than he’d ever felt. Strange, he’d never felt alone before. Now that he was with Darby, he felt …
He felt.
TWENTY
An hour later, Darby couldn’t deny she was hungry. Not too eager to run into Niklas again after the childish way she’d acted, she pressed her ear to the door to listen for the television. No sounds carried from the other side.
She should have just eaten when she had the chance, when the food was hot, instead of being so stubborn. Because he was right. She’d agreed to do as he said, to follow his lead. That had been the understanding when they first began this together.
She pulled open the door and peered out. The room was empty. The city skyline suffused the room with a dim glow. She moved to the tray and lifted the lid. Her burger and fries were still there, untouched.
Sinking onto the couch, she took a generous bite from her cheeseburger. It was cold but still satisfying to her growling stomach. She bit into a fry, then dropped it. That was one thing she couldn’t eat cold. She took another bite of the burger and practically moaned. That was better than the first taste.
“So you were hungry.”
She jumped where she sat and struggled to swallow her bite. Covering her mouth with her fingers, she said accusingly, “You scared me.”
“How could I sleep with you out here moaning over your dinner?”
“You didn’t hear me.” She took a sip from the glass of water on the tray. He smiled and she knew he was teasing. She smiled back and took another bite. “Did you eat?”
“Yeah.”
She inhaled through her nose, finished chewing and took another sip before saying, “I’m sorry. You were right. I promised to follow your lead and then I—”
“I didn’t come out here for an apology.”
“No?” She plucked at the burger bun, tearing bits of bread between her fingers.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Why not?”
His eyes gleamed at her in the near dark, and she felt herself leaning closer, remembering their kiss, want to relive it again. Wanting to live. It had been too long. Too long feeling dead inside.
He didn’t move but his eyes lowered to her mouth. Her food was suddenly forgotten, replaced with a new kind of hunger. She dropped her hand to his thigh, his muscles tightened beneath her hand, and she loved that. Loved that she did that to him.
She angled herself so that her lips were a hair’s breadth from his. She didn’t know where her courage came from—maybe the fact that she might never have a chance like this with him again. Who knew what the month would bring them? She only knew she wasn’t going to back down now. This could be her only shot.
The blood pounded so hard in her ears, she could hardly hear her words. “You don’t have to sleep.” Her fingers slid up his hard-muscled thigh. “Neither of us does.” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Not yet.”
He released a ragged breath, not moving an inch as she closed her hand over the hard length of him, her palm pressing down on the erection straining against his pants. Air escaped between her teeth in a loud hiss as she tested the shape of him with her fingertips.
Warm fingers circled her wrist. Her gaze flew to his face, thinking he would stop her now. She drank in the sight of his strained face.
He didn’t remove her hand from him. His grip on her shifted, guided her hand to move. Up and down. Up and down. His gaze scorched her, blistering her very soul as he worked her over him.
He swelled beneath her touch, doubling in size. Desire pooled low in her belly. She squeezed her thighs tightly together, attempting to relieve the growing ache between her legs.
“See what you do to me?” he asked, dragging her palm over him, faster, harder, the stiff feel of him making her breath come harsh and swift. God, she wanted him. Hard and swift. She wanted him to fling her back on the couch and take her … to let that animal part of himself go.
She longed to feel him without the clothes between them. She wanted to feel the texture of him, test the pulsing heat of him in the palm of her hand. No barriers.
Unbuttoning the top of his pants, she drew the zipper all the way down and slipped her hand inside. She closed her fingers over the naked length of him. Silk on steel in her hand. She ran her thumb over the satin-smooth tip of him. His groan tore through her, filled her with a heady delight.
“Niklas,” she whispered, scanning his face, the square jaw, the hard lines and shadowed hollows. The throat that worked in speechless wonder at what she was doing to him.
His eyes blazed down at her, the fire there unmistakable. An answering flare burned through her blood, her soul, filling the emptiness, the lonely ache that had been there for too long now.
Lowering her head, she tasted him with her tongue in a deep lick. He shuddered beneath her and she licked him again, swirling her tongue around the head of him. She did this several times, feeling him tense and tighten beneath her like a winding coil. At last, she took him fully in her mouth, slid her lips down the length of him. He released a low cry, his hips thrusting to meet her plunging mouth.
She reveled in his groans, in the sensation of his hands tangling in her hair. He was hers. Totally at her mercy.
“Stop,” he cried out brokenly, his strong hands clamping down on her arms and pulling her to him. He lifted her onto his lap and swallowed her sound of protest with his mouth.
He drank long and deep from her lips, obliterating her senses. His hands gripped her head, angling her for the onslaught of his lips. Then his hands moved, covered every inch of her until she was panting and moaning and rubbing herself against him, desperate to end the agony of wanting him.
His mouth kissed a fiery path down her throat, teeth dragging and nipping at her skin. He buried both hands in her hair, pulling her head back again for his ravaging mouth.
A deep ache tugged in her belly, throbbing and squeezing for relief.
She jerked with sudden memory. She’d seen this, lived this before. This was her vision. She had predicted this happening.
“Darby,” he rasped, the softness of his lips against hers a direct contrast to the rough, guttural sound of his voice. “I didn’t want this … I tried.”
She shook her head, not understanding, not able to make sense of his words. The taste of him made her head whirl, spicy warmth in her mouth. Her shaking hands pulled his sweater over his head and caressed his sculpted chest.
Words were beyond her. There was only him. And the delicious way he made her feel. She didn’t want to wonder if what they were doing was right or wrong. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow … or the month’s end. She wanted only to savor.
Her palms skimmed his firm chest, curving over warm flesh, velvet skin stretched tight over muscle and sinew. Incredibly, it seemed he was hers now. His body, at any rate.
He took her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping gently and murmuring against her mouth, “I don’t care what I said.” His hoarse voice stoked the heat in her belly into a nest of writhing flames. Pulling back, his hands skated up her arms. “I want you.”
Relief rippled through her at his words. Because it would kill her to stop now.
His shining eyes burned fire in the room’s dim glow, searing a path directly to her heart. “Tell me you want this.”
Darby closed the one-inch distance separating their lips and kissed him with everything she had, letting him know exactly what she wanted from him. “There,” she said, coming up for air.
He growled and hauled her against him, showering fierce kisses over every inch of her face before his mouth fell on hers in a savage kiss.
He lifted her in one sweep and carried her into his bedroom and dropped her on the bed. Still standing, he shrugged free from the rest of his clothes and stood before her as she had never seen any man. She’d never been with a man who looked like this. He was magnificent. All hard lines, curving muscles and shadowed hollow
s that made her mouth tingle, eager to taste.
He came over her then, his body a thrilling weight, hard and large upon her. Her hands roamed his broad back, nails digging into supple skin as he lowered his head to suckle one breast through the thin cotton of her shirt. Pleasure-pain lanced through her. His teeth abraded her nipple into a hard point, and she arched against him, crying his name. One of her hands tangled in his hair, urging him closer.
He turned his attention to her other breast, laving her nipple with his hot tongue, inching her pajama bottoms down as he did so.
Cool air licked her calves, her thighs, her hips. With startling deftness, he pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her bare and exposed before him. She shook with both desire and trepidation, overcome with the newness of his feasting stare on her naked body.
“Darby.” His hand hovered above her abdomen, long fingers splayed wide, shaking ever so slightly. His hair fell over his brow, hiding his eyes as he studied her.
She didn’t need to see his eyes to feel their heat, intent and searing on her. Slowly, his hand lowered to cup her between the legs.
She sighed and pressed herself up into his palm. He began to knead there and her breath caught in her throat. His gaze shot to hers. A sexy smile hugged his well-shaped mouth.
She stopped breathing altogether when his head dipped and he pressed a series of openmouthed kisses over her belly, working his way down to where his hand worked over her mound.
His warm fingers teased at her entrance, stroking, spreading her own moisture over her in erotic circles that dragged animal-like sounds from deep in her throat. His finger plunged inside her then and she lurched off the bed with a ragged sob.
“Easy,” he crooned, his touch magic as he worked her to a fever pitch. His eyes glowed brightly as he stared at her, twisting and writhing beneath him.
“Now,” she pleaded, her head coming off the bed. Legs opening wide, she urged him to her. Her fingers trailed the line of his spine, cupping his ass in her hands and urging him inside her.
“Niklas,” she pleaded, her voice low and desperate, unrecognizable even to her own ears.
“Darby,” he moaned, sliding into her in one smooth thrust, filling her with stunning force.
For a moment, he remained still, lodged deeply inside her, pulsing in rhythm to the squeezing burn at her center. Every nerve in her body stretched and screamed, humming in sweet, agonizing tension as he held himself still inside her.
His biceps quivered as he restrained himself, hands braced on either side of her head. Gradually, he moved his hips, pumping slowly, torturing her with deep, unhurried strokes.
Her gaze devoured him above her, his beautiful olive-hued muscles straining over her in a way that made it clear he held himself tightly leashed.
His hair fell over his forehead in a veil, the dim lighting gilding those lighter strands. Her trembling fingers brushed it away, watching as it fell back with a will of its own.
Her body arched like a bow beneath his thrusts. She flexed her inner muscles around him. His groan filled the air and his thrusts grew harder, slamming into her, stoking the fire he had started within her that first night she saw him outside the store.
Higher and hotter the flames rose until her skin, her very bones, felt as though they would burst, leaving nothing but ashes behind.
“Niklas!” she cried, digging her nails into the smooth muscles of his back.
His head dropped to the crook of her neck. “That’s it,” he muttered beneath her ear. “Come for me.”
One of his hands slid the length of her bare thigh, lifting her leg to better meet his thrusts. He pumped harder, deeper, the friction unbearable now, an exquisite pleasure-pain that drove her mad, left her gasping, sobbing, pleading incoherently.
But he understood. He knew just what to do. Answering her need, he hooked his thumbs beneath her knees and pulled back her legs for deeper penetration.
At last, she burst, exploded, shattered until she was a quivering pile of flesh and bones beneath him. Replete, sated, she sank back on the bed, content to still feel him over her, thrusting a final time with a loud shout of release.
A lazy smile lifted her lips. Rolling off her, he kept an arm loosely about her waist. She waited, unsure what to expect now.
Staring at the dark ceiling above her, she stroked his hard biceps, taking pleasure in the sound of his ragged breath near her ear, gradually slowing. She had done that to him—robbed him of breath, control. Pleasure suffused her and she snuggled deeper into his arms, her heart clenching when he tightened his hold on her in a way that made her think he would never let go. After a while his breathing eased and his hold relaxed.
Smiling, she closed her eyes and drifted away, joining him in sleep.
TWENTY-ONE
So leaving her wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.
Niklas winced as he trailed his fingers lightly through the thick mass of red hair spilling across his chest, reveling in the sensation of her body against his. Not that he had planned for this to happen. It wasn’t as though he’d deliberately set out to sleep with her. He’d tried to resist. Still, it had happened.
She’d long since fallen asleep. He’d pretended to do the same. Cowardly, he supposed. He wanted to avoid any awkward after-sex conversation.
Not that he had ever felt awkward before. He’d never worried about conversation because there’d never been any. It had only ever been sex before. Just that. Only that. This, with Darby … Well, it was something else. Something more.
It was as though some part of himself had known once wouldn’t be enough with her. That if he let her in, if he caved and got too close to her, he would be faced with this moment and the uncomfortable knot in his gut at the prospect of saying good-bye to her.
Part of him wanted to be mad, wanted to get out of bed and leave the intoxicating warmth of her body pressed flush against his own, but then there was that other part, the overwhelming voice in his head that told him to stay, to enjoy. Take what she offered him.
And that was more than her body, he realized. This hadn’t just been about sex. There was need. In both of them. For some reason, he needed her. And he hadn’t needed anyone, hadn’t felt bonded to another soul since his mother. For years, he’d been alone and that had been just fine. Until he met Darby.
She sighed against his skin, her breath moist and warm and spiking his hunger for her all over again. She nestled herself closer. His hand moved from her hair to the warm curve of her hip. For the first time he began to think about a future after Cyprian.
He began to think of a future like this.
DARBY WOKE WITH A panicked jerk, screams reverberating in her head. It took her a moment to realize the screams weren’t her own. She shook her head, shoving tangled strands of hair from her face. Years of waking to the sound of her own screams and she couldn’t be too sure.
But these weren’t her screams. They were Aimee’s.
She and Niklas both bounded from the bed. As Niklas dove for a weapon, Darby raced from his bedroom and across the small sitting area, grateful that she’d slipped her T-shirt on during the night.
“Darby, wait!” Niklas roared, but she couldn’t wait, couldn’t stop. Not for anything. She had to reach Aimee.
Guilt stabbed her for ever leaving Aimee, for putting her own selfish desires before the child. The girl probably woke up frightened and alone. At least that was the hopeful, desperate thought that rolled feverishly through Darby’s head in the second it took her to reach Aimee’s bed. Her empty bed.
“Aimee!” She looked wildly around the room before plunging back into the sitting area. That’s when the cold hit her, penetrated her, slapping against her bare legs. Snow blew into the room like powdery smoke.
Niklas stood there, armed with a gun in each hand—staring straight ahead where the window stood open, his expression coldly blank, void of emotion. And in that moment she knew.
“Aimee,” she whispered faintly, inching forward,
her bare feet sliding over the flat carpet. She shook from head to toe—and not from cold. Not from the cold at all.
Niklas’s arm shot out to stop her from going too close to the open window. She stilled, froze, but not because of him. Her own fear held her in check—fear of what she would see when she looked out that window. Of what she wouldn’t see.
Without a word, he moved to the window and peered out. And down. Four stories down.
Niklas turned and faced her. The cold look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Everything she couldn’t bear knowing. She closed her eyes and turned her face away, as if she could turn from the horrible truth.
Her stomach lurched and she pressed a hand to her roiling belly. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Darby,” he spoke her name steadily, lacking emotion, and she wondered if anything ever reached him, affected him. The violent urge to slap him seized her. Not wholly fair, but it was there nonetheless.
He slid one of his guns into his waistband and approached her, his hand reaching for her as if he would comfort her. That, she couldn’t endure.
“Darby,” he repeated her name softly, and she was flooded with the memory of their night together when that same soft voice filled her ear with intimate whispers … when she’d conveniently, selfishly forgotten all about Aimee.
She shook her head against this memory and took a step back, holding up a hand. “No, no, damnit! No!” Even now, shaken with grief for Aimee, he was still clouding her thinking.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was infuriatingly calm. “He took her. I should have seen it coming—”
“Then why didn’t you?” she lashed out, uncaring at that moment that she was being unfair.
“I should have,” he admitted even as he flinched. “They’re linked. Even more than I’m linked to him. She’s freshly infected. He’s her alpha. He sensed her … and low on pack members, it makes sense that he’d come for her. He’s desperate to grow his pack again.”
Desperate enough to claim a seven-year-old child.
Night Falls on the Wicked Page 16
