She lost her train of thought, and swiped a hand tiredly across her face.
“I’m not sure what we learned. Wolf interrogated a captured member of the Hydra tribe, but I’m not sure he told me everything he learned when he read the other vampire’s mind. What I did learn is that there’s a hit out on me and I find the Tribes taking it so personally disconcerting even though I know that this sort of behavior is historically accurate. It’s one of the earmarks of Tribe behavior. But I find it more scary than I do interesting when I’m the target. I told Wolf I wouldn’t use the zapper anymore, but I’m going to have to break that promise, for which I will apologize later. Besides, I hear the shower running, so it’s not like I’ll be disturbing his sleep. He’s had hours to rest, but I haven’t had any. If there’s Tribe Primes on Dawn hunting for me, I want all the protection I can get while I’m resting. If I turn the zapper on at the lowest setting the worst damage it can do to Wolf is a small headache. I’d warn him, if that didn’t mean running the risk of walking in on a naked man—vampire—in the bathroom. I’m not saying I wouldn’t mind seeing someone that gorgeous naked, but he might get the idea that my reasons were for prurient more than esthetic appreciation. And he’d be right—but I’d be wrong. Meanwhile, I’m going to get some sleep, knowing I’ll be shielded from the vampires hunting me. That said, I’m going to bed.”
Tribe boys? They have the same instincts as a greyhound—they see a rabbit, and they run after it.
Laurent remembered telling Eden that the night before, but he didn’t know why the words haunted him now, hours after the latest confrontation with his pursuers. He turned off the shower, twisted water out of his long hair, and reached for a towel. He should have felt rested, but he didn’t. His bruises were healed. He was fed, he was safe from the sun, and no one had yet traced him.
He had spent several hours pacing, telling himself he wasn’t worried about Eden herself, he was worried about the safety of his personal hacker.
He knew she was back now, and wondered why she’d been gone so long. His initial urge was to go to her, but he stopped himself a step away from the bathroom door—because the urge was too powerful.
He wanted to see her face, to hear her voice, to catch her scent and her mental energy. He wanted her—and this was exactly the sort of Prime behavior he’d armored himself against all his life.
Tribe members did not let themselves become attached to any female, vampire or mortal. Females were for using. Eden was a female—therefore she was to be used.
“Logic,” he murmured.
He closed his eyes and made himself think about the survival logic of being a Tribe Prime. Survival was the whole point.
So, no running naked out into the living room to check up on the woman, who was very good at taking care of herself. Of course, she’d probably find it sexy if he sauntered out with a towel draped around his hips to wish her good day, then yawn fetchingly and flash her a smile. That behavior would be charming, seductive. Obvious, yes, but not threatening. Seducing her was a tool in using her.
“Too late now,” he murmured, aware that she was exhausted. He felt her drag off to bed, and once again had to stop himself from heading toward her.
Because his impulse was to comfort, rather than to use.
Bad, Laurent. Never forget that you’re a selfish bastard, and proud of it.
With that in mind, he finally stepped out of the bathroom. With a few hours to wait while Eden got her rest and a faint headache growing behind his eyes, Laurent decided to lie down for a while himself.
“Run, little one.”
“I’m not little!”
“But you will run.”
Laurent backed away into the shadows, away from Justinian’s glittering smile, away from the bright eyes. He knew the shadows wouldn’t help. But they were all he had.
It took him a moment to realize that he had the darkness, too. He was a vampire as much as they were.
“Run.”
This time the voice belonged to Belisarius. His brother. The one who wanted him dead.
“It’s only a game, little one,” Justinian said. “A training exercise.”
But for whom?
He wasn’t yet a Prime, but the others were. If he ran, and they caught him—
Belisarius lunged, and Laurent had no more time to think.
He ran. His heart pounded. He was full of screaming terror, but cunning swiftly took the place of thought. The instinct for survival was strong in him.
And he would not let Belisarius win. Never. Never.
“Never!”
The scream drove Eden up out of the bed even before she was awake. Her eyes opened as she stumbled out of her room and down the hall. She was standing outside the vampire’s room when the shout came again.
“Never!”
This time it sent a shudder of sympathy through her that brought her fully awake.
“What the—” She scrubbed her hands across her face.
She heard Wolf thrashing around and shouting, clearly having a horrible nightmare.
She opened the door and rushed inside.
He was sitting up in bed, and his eyes were open. His head swiveled toward her when she came in, but she could tell he wasn’t seeing her. The pain she saw in those staring eyes—pain that came from deep in his heart—drove her forward.
It wasn’t until she was holding him in her arms that she remembered that he was a vampire, and even then, it didn’t matter.
His back and shoulders were rigid, hard as stone. For a moment she imagined she was embracing the pale marble of a Renaissance statue. But his skin was warm, almost hot to the touch. Not a statue, but a male breathing in ragged gasps.
She murmured into his ear. Stupid things like, “It’s all right. I’m here. It’s a dream. Just a bad dream.” Though she had no idea what was wrong with him at all. The urge was to comfort in any way she could. Something about his being in pain broke her heart.
“Let me make it better,” she crooned. “Let me help.”
She didn’t think he heard her. At least not the words.
When he finally turned his gaze to hers, his gray eyes seemed almost black, and the pain in them was beyond her understanding.
“I ran away,” he said. “It was a game to make me scared, but I ran away instead. I won.”
The laugh that came out of him then was so bitter, it hurt her ears.
“He always finds me and drags me back. But I did run away.”
She wondered if he was talking to her, or still caught in his nightmare.
“It’s not real.” She brushed her hands through his long silvery hair, damp with sweat. “You’re dreaming.”
He took a deep breath. She thought he was going to laugh that horrible laugh again, and couldn’t stand it.
So she kissed him.
It felt so right to cover his mouth with hers and try to take his pain away.
Aching pleasure swept through her with hard, insistent heat the moment their lips met. His mouth was hot and hungry, and she wanted him instantly. The connection was far more intense than the two times he’d claimed her lips as a reward. Breathless excitement had stirred in her each time, but this took more than her breath away.
Hurricane-force excitement roared through her as her tongue delved inside his mouth. Thought vanished, leaving simple, urgent need.
He moaned against her mouth and was suddenly holding her tightly. His hand cupped the back of her head as he took control of the kiss.
Of her.
A prick of pain pierced her lower lip and shot heat into her nipples and her belly. A faint taste of hot copper on her tongue sharpened desire even more.
The tenseness in him changed, going from fear to commanding desire with a fluid grace that devastated her senses. One moment he was as still as a statue of a naked god. The next he was a god come to life, his skin satin over hard muscle.
She couldn’t keep her hands off him. She stroked his hard belly and wide shoulders, explo
red the long, lean back and narrow hips. She’d been dying to do this since the moment they met. Now restraint melted like mist.
All she wanted was to touch him, to know him. He lay back on the bed and let her. When she pulled off the T-shirt and underwear she’d worn to bed, he laughed softly, as though the sound came from a great distance. There was no mocking in it, just joy. It was as if he’d been in a dark place, but she’d brought him out of it.
The joy of being alive suddenly permeated the room, and it reached deep inside Eden.
There was something else she wanted inside her as well.
She straddled him and slowly kissed her way down his chest; breathed in the rich masculine scent and absorbed the texture of his skin. She felt his erection press against her rump.
When she would have moved back to settle herself on him, his hands came around her waist. The next thing she knew, she was on her back. He loomed over her, large, male, dangerous. His long silver hair brushed sensually against her breasts, sending flickering fire through her nerve endings.
Then his head swooped down. She saw a flash of fang, and fear surged through her. But he only kissed the tip of her nose. It reminded her that he’d said he liked it, and fear melted into a feeling of being cherished.
The adrenaline rush remained.
It heightened the sensations of his hands on her body. His caresses were gentle, slow and thorough. So were the kisses that accompanied them, on her mouth, her cheeks and throat. He drew blood with one tiny nip, and slowly licked the drop away while she arched in a long, shuddering orgasm.
“Sweet,” she murmured, coming down.
His chuckle was soft in her ear, his warm breath tantalizing. “Just getting started.”
She lay beneath him, boneless, satiated.
Then the caresses began again and she realized that she was nowhere near satiated.
His mouth was on her breast, his tongue slowly circling the puckered nipple as she languidly combed her fingers through the thick silkiness of his long, long hair. It was unfashionable; it was wonderful.
“I’m still stuck in the eighties, I guess,” he said, lifting his head briefly.
She didn’t think she’d spoken, and didn’t think he’d read her mind. It was the gesture he’d interpreted. Then her thoughts drifted away on a rising tide of sensation. His mouth moved from her breast down to her belly, then lower still.
Her thighs fell open for him. His head dipped between her legs; the touch of his tongue brought heaven. She squirmed and writhed, and came, and came again, going higher each time. She begged him to stop—and to never stop—but the only sounds that came from her were raw moans.
Then he moved up her body and slid deep inside her, wringing another orgasm from her. He groaned as her inner muscles rippled around his thick length.
She almost couldn’t bear it when he began to move, thrusting into her hard and fast. It took her breath away; it flamed in her blood and made her think of lava boiling through her veins.
“Who needs volcanoes?” she heard herself say.
From a great distance, she heard him laugh once more. She laughed with him.
For some reason the shared humor joined them together in a way deeper than physical. Not that the physical wasn’t marvelous.
Especially when his rhythm increased to the point that sent them both over the edge.
It took her so hard, and Eden was so caught up in the glory of it, that she passed right out.
Chapter Twelve
“I have a headache,” Laurent murmured.
“You’re lucky,” Eden mumbled against the vampire’s chest. “You’ve no idea how sore I’m going to be in the morning—evening.” With actions came consequences.
“It’s already evening.”
“Whenever. And I’m the one who’s supposed to have the headache—before the deed.”
“Right. Shouldn’t you be reeling from guilt about now?”
“It is impossible to reel in this position.”
He patted her on the back and let his hand slide down to cup her slightly raised butt. “I guess.”
She probably looked ludicrous, but she was really comfortable. Her head was resting over his heart, which was beating with a slow, inhuman rhythm that should have been disconcerting, but wasn’t. His other arm was around her, strong as a steel band, and his fingers toyed gently with the short hair at the back of her neck.
She didn’t know when they’d changed positions, or how long she’d been asleep. She was both weary and rested. It had been a while since she’d been with a man, and the aftermath had never been this good.
As she came more awake, she realized that he was right: this was the time when she should be feeling guilty, or at least chagrined. After all, she’d been trained to resist the seductive blandishments that were second nature to a vampire. She searched her conscience, though not very deeply, and discovered that she was feeling just fine.
“Headache,” he repeated. “And I hate to be so impolite as to inquire, but what the hell are you doing in here? Not that I’m complaining—or trying to sound unchivalrous.”
Eden lifted her head to look him in the eyes and saw that he was the one who was faintly embarrassed. There was pain there as well, physical and spiritual. But he blinked, and nothing of his soul was showing a moment later.
“You were having a nightmare. Your shouting woke me up,” she told him. “I was trying to bring you out of it, and…things happened. Don’t you remember?”
He gazed into the distance and looked intently thoughtful for a while. A bit of the pain returned to his eyes. “I was having a flashback,” he corrected. His hand traced down her back, sending a pleasurable shiver through her. “Thanks for bringing me out of it.”
She wondered what sort of memory could have provoked Wolf’s tortured reaction.
But before she could, he said, “Don’t ask.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Such is life. About this headache—”
Eden sat up, and immediately missed the closeness. She quickly went to the living room and shut off the device on the computer desk. She glanced over her shoulder as she did so, expecting Wolf to follow her and make some accusatory remark. But he remained in the bedroom.
Maybe she’d worn him out. Or maybe it was the headache …
Which was her fault. Maybe so was the nightmare.
Now a twist of guilt went through her. Not some residual angst over having had sex with a vampire. Oh, no—despite the rules and regs, she could barely keep from smiling like a cat with cream on her face over that.
But she wasn’t smiling when she went back into his bedroom. She realized that she shouldn’t go back, and she was well aware of being naked. But she went and stood in the doorway anyway, leaning against it, arms crossed under her breasts. The room itself was dim, but there was light coming in from the hallway, falling across the bed. The nude vampire was sitting with his back propped up by pillows, looking even more glorious than she remembered—and she hadn’t exactly been gone that long.
She looked him over, and he looked her over. And she finally dipped her head and said, “Sorry about that.”
He rubbed his temples. “I thought we had an agreement about that zapper thing.”
It wasn’t exactly an accusation, but he definitely didn’t sound happy. It made her feel like she’d disappointed him.
“I was scared they’d come and get me,” she admitted, knowing this wasn’t something a hunter should admit to a vampire. She gestured toward the bed, the movement taking in everything that had happened there. “I was as scared as you were.”
She waited for him to deny his own fears, but he was honest enough to keep quiet.
“A couple of nights of fighting vampires got to me,” she went on. “I wanted to sleep feeling safe. So I gave you a headache—and probably your bad dream.”
“I’m here to keep you safe.”
Laurent was totally surprised at the conviction of his words. He was disap
pointed that she hadn’t trusted or depended on him. It was like he was channeling the Clan Prime he was pretending to be.
“We’re partners,” he reminded her.
The words came out of his mouth as if he really meant it, and a part of him panicked. And he’d tasted her when they’d had sex, hadn’t he? She already had his blood in her, and now he had hers. That was not supposed to happen! If you tasted a female, you never gave her your blood—ever, ever, ever! That led to—
Complications.
He groaned and clutched at his temples.
“Are you okay? How’s your head?”
Eden’s guilty concern was almost too much for him to bear. When she moved toward him, he should have told her to stay away. But he couldn’t do it. He wanted her near him.
It was no more than a drop or two, he reassured himself. Not enough to make a connection.
Because he really didn’t want to have to kill her.
Luckily she wasn’t in the least bit psychic, so forming a connection between them would take more than just sharing blood once or twice, right?
He could only guess at how long it took for—he mentally gritted his teeth—a bond to form. This was the sort of information Clan and Family Primes were given as they reached puberty—they probably had mortal/vampire sex ed classes. Tribe Primes were only taught how to use blood sharing and torture to turn mortals into blood slaves.
He didn’t want a slave. And a bondmate was out of the question. He wasn’t even sure which behavior was sicker: bonding or breaking. But bonding was certainly a sign of weakness.
But you’ve always been weak, the memory of Justinian’s voice whispered in his mind.
“We can’t get involved,” he said as she sat on the edge of the bed. Yet even as he spoke, he reached out to touch her. Weak.
It was just the merest fingertip caress down the length of her arm. He relished the gesture, though he didn’t mean to do it. The texture of her warm, sleek skin rattled him with instant desire.
Somehow their fingers ended up twined together, hands resting on the rumpled sheet. He liked being spoiled, so taking his hand away took more effort than it would have taken one of the good guys.
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