as cover. She untucked her feet and scouted her course.
“You’re not going to make it.”
The comment came from above her. It was made in the calmest, most conversational tone she’d ever heard and when she looked up, she knew why. Dak stood on the porch leaning against the railing as if he didn’t have a care in the world, his gun over his shoulder. The only hint that this was more than a casual conversation to him was the intensity with which he watched her.
“I could if you pretended you never saw me.”
He nodded as if acknowledging her point as she stood. “But that’s not going to happen.”
She kind of figured he’d feel that way. Desperation welled out of resolve. She couldn’t fail. She had to at least try. She glanced at the road, and all those SUVs—so close yet so far.
The porch creaked as Dak shifted his weight. “If you bolt, I’ll run you to ground, and Deuce wouldn’t like that.”
“Believe it or not, I’m not overly concerned with what Deuce likes.”
He nodded. “Seeing you out here in next to nothing has a way of driving that point home, but that will change.”
She followed his gaze. Her shirt, wet from the melted snow, was clinging to her breasts. She folded her arms across her chest. “No, it won’t.”
He smiled, revealing strong white teeth and larger than normal canines. “I believe you mean that.”
Keeping his amber eyes locked on her, he ducked his chin and spoke into the small mike on his shoulder. “I’ve got her.”
There was a pause as he listened to whoever was on the other end. “Will do.” He braced the rifle against the rail. “Deuce is on his way.”
He shrugged out of his coat and passed it to her. “If you’re going to run, you might want to do it now.”
She took the heavy leather coat. “Would there be any point?”
“No.” He watched her as she shrugged it on. “But sometimes I find humans have a need to indulge in pointless efforts.”
The coat was warm from his body. His scent clung to the material. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it struck her as wrong. The desperation inside her rose to tears. She clenched the excess leather sleeves in her hands and tried the truth. “I need to leave.”
“Deuce will never allow it.”
“Why? Why does this matter to him so much? He’s got his daughter.”
He nodded toward someone behind her, his “You’ll have to ask him that” coincided with the “Voice’s” scream of Run!
She knew it was too late for that even as she turned. At first she saw nothing, but then the night seemed to shimmer and Deuce was there. Twenty feet away and closing fast, his dark gray shirt and black pants blending into the shadows, striding across the snow without sinking into it, grace and anger in every step. His long hair fanned around his shoulders, whipping in a wind that surrounded only him.
“Oh shit.” The cloud winked away, leaving her alone with her fear, and one unhappy vamp.
Dak picked up his rifle. “That about sums it up.”
“How does he just appear out of midair like that?”
“Illusion.”
And then Deuce was there in front of her, no illusion, his anger pounding her like blows. She took a step back. He caught her arm and pulled her toward him. She closed her eyes and braced herself. The politeness of his “Thank you” when she expected violence had her opening her eyes. He was speaking to Dak, who nodded and said, “Any time.”
Eden tugged her arm. Deuce didn’t release her, and when he turned to her, his anger pummeled her again. Though his face remained impassive and his demeanor calm she had no doubt she was dealing with one ticked-off Chosen.
“Take off the coat.”
She looked down at his hand on her arm. “You’ll need to let me go first.” She was rather pleased with how calm she sounded, when in reality she was scared spitless.
His black eyes held hers a long moment. His grip lightened on her arm. “If you run, I will catch you.”
She didn’t doubt that. In the flowing shirt and tight black jeans, the man’s muscles were very evident. With or without super powers, she had no doubt he’d catch her. She pulled her arm free. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She shrugged out of the coat. Deuce tucked her into the shelter of his side before she could miss the warmth. The coat was yanked from her hands with a rough jerk and tossed to Dak, who stood on the porch with a strange smile on his face. And then they were moving. At least Deuce was moving. She was more or less hoisted along in his wake. She tried to put her foot down as they rounded the corner, but landed on a stick. The pain made her gasp. Deuce swore and without breaking stride lifted her into his arms. She grabbed for his neck as he took the first step, expecting to be jostled. She should have known better. Men who glided didn’t jostle. Deuce flowed over the steps the same way he glided over the ground. The front door opened. She had a glimpse of Harley’s darkly handsome face and then they were moving through the interior with blurring speed. There was only time to gather a brief impression of high ceilings and dark wood before they were heading down the stairs. There was less light there, the atmosphere darker. More in tune with Deuce’s mood.
Fear began to overwhelm Eden’s bravado. If her aborted escape had taught her one thing, it was that no one here would interfere with Deuce. At least when it came to her. The second door on the left opened. The deep maroon and muted golds of Deuce’s apartment beckoned like a haven. She turned her face into his chest and waited. Once that door closed behind them, anything was possible.
The door clicked shut.
She could hear the shower running. Deuce didn’t stop. The sound grew louder. Another door opened and she was surrounded by warm steam. She took a steadying breath, and noted that the bathroom window was now closed.
“We’re in the bathroom.”
“The scene of your crime.” Deuce lowered her feet to the floor. It was damp and warm from the prolonged running of the water.
“I can leave whenever I want.”
“No,” he anchored his hand in the hair at her nape, tipping her head back, locking his gaze to hers the same way he locked her body to his, “you cannot.”
The urge to accept his decree pounded at her. “Then I’m a prisoner and have a perfect right to escape. Either way, it’s not a crime.”
“You played on my trust.”
“I did what I had to.”
“You will not try again.”
The statement echoed in her mind. He was influencing her. She yanked her gaze free of his and put more energy into blocking her thoughts. “I’ll do what I have to.”
“We will talk of this later. “
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You abandoned your mate and your child and went practically naked and defenseless into the night.” His grip worked deeper into her hair. “We have much to talk about.”
“The only person potentially harmed was me, and as an adult, I have a right to do what I will with my body.”
“You are wrong.”
His free hand slashed down. Warm air struck her midriff. She grabbed for the edges of her sliced shirt. “What are you doing?”
His hand, with that elongated nail, slashed down again. “You have his scent all over you.”
Her shorts slid down her legs. She made a grab for them and missed. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The hard edge to his “No” silenced her protest. She didn’t know much about Deuce, but that hard edge packed into that one syllable was a language anyone could understand. This was one pissed-off vamp. She tried placating. “You want me to shower?”
“No.”
Between one blink and the next, his clothing was gone, and she was left gaping at the sheer perfection of his chest. Padded with muscle, topped by broad, equally muscular shoulders, the view was any woman’s dream. Her pussy flooded with moisture. She had a thing for men with hair on their chests, and Deuce had just enough to tempt a woman to explor
e to see how it would feel against her palms, to wonder how it would feel against her sensitive nipples as he came over her.
She visually traced the path of that hair down over the hills and valleys of his washboard abs, rimmed the edge of his navel and stopped dead at the solid jut of his cock. Despite the danger of the situation, despite her determination to hold her own, a needy whimper slipped past her control. He was hard. Heavy with the strength of his desire, his thick cock stretched down his thigh. The broad head darker than the rest, shiny with the first drop of pre-come. She knew exactly how he’d fill her mouth if she just bent down. How he’d taste, how he’d feel. How he’d satisfy. Dear God, she wanted him.
He caught her hand before she clasped his cock. With a shake of his head, he dragged her into the stall.
“What? Now you’re going to tell me mates don’t touch?”
His big body blocked the jets from hitting her front, but three of the showerheads had a free-for-all on her back. He reached over her head. “That would be a lie.”
“Then why can’t I touch you?”
He looked down at her, his black eyes swirling red flames and emotions she couldn’t name. “You have not earned the pleasure.”
“Earned the pleasure?”
“Yes.” He stepped forward, crowding her back. Warm water poured over her head. She held her breath until he allowed her out of the flow.
“I’m supposed to be grateful to you for the pleasure of touching you?” There was a clunk of plastic against plastic.
“Yes.” He rubbed his hands together. Foam appeared and then he was working it into her hair. Though she could feel the violence swirling through him, his touch was nothing more than efficient.
“I’m not some little plaything for you to amuse yourself with.”
He crowded her back into the spray, massaging water through her hair as he said, “If you were, it would be much more convenient.”
“Go to hell!” She even halfway meant it.
He tipped her chin up. She knew she looked like a drowned rat with her hair plastered to her head and her too skinny body. “Only if you go with me.”
“You take this togetherness thing too seriously.”
He turned her around. This time when he reached over her head, he retrieved the shower gel. A scent reminiscent of the ocean filled the stall. “The choice was yours.”
“So maybe I’m having trouble with some aspects of it.”
“Then this should be discussed.”
Like she didn’t already know how that would go. “You’ll just tell me that’s how it is between mates.”
He turned off the upper shower jet. “Brace your hands against the wall.”
“Why?”
“Because I have told you to.” His fingers traced a random series of lines down her back. Her scars. He was retracing her scars from her grandfather’s whipping.
“And that’s enough?”
“Yes.”
She did, but not because he told her to. She did it because when he started the gentle massage on her shoulders, she needed the support. He had wonderful hands. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“You are my mate.”
“Whom you are very angry with.”
His hands paused in their soothing motion. “Yes.”
“So?”
“It is my duty to care for you.”
“Even when you’re angry?”
He worked the tight knot of muscles between her shoulder blades. “At all times.”
She couldn’t conceive of that. “Are you trying to tell me that even if I get you screaming at the moon angry, you won’t do anything about it?”
“Something will be done.”
“But you won’t fight with me?”
“Mates do not fight, any more than the Chosen get ‘screaming at the moon angry’.”
“What do they get?”
“Displeased.”
She had to see his face. She turned. His expression left her no doubt. He was completely serious. He really thought he could have a relationship with anyone, her even, and never get angry. “Dusan?”
His brow rose, while his hands rested heavily on her shoulders. His eyes stayed on her face. She had his full attention. “What?”
“You are so setting yourself up for a fall.”
He blinked the water away from his eyes. “I do not think so.”
She brushed his hair off his shoulder, feeling his anger and his determination to control it. He flinched. She pulled her hand back, curling it into a fist against her hip. She shouldn’t be hurt that he didn’t want her touch anymore. She had tricked him and betrayed his trust. But she was. Which just went to prove that everything about her having a relationship with him was irrational. “Holding all that emotion inside is bad for you.”
He reached up and squeezed more soap into his hands. “The Chosen do not get emotional.”
It was her turn to blink, and not because water was getting into her eyes. He was a very intense man and intense men had intense emotions. “You’re sure about that?”
“Positive. Turn around.”
When she didn’t immediately respond, he turned her, his hands sliding pleasantly on her upper arms.
“Aren’t we done yet?”
“No.”
“We’re going to run out of hot water.”
“It heats on demand. Now, stay.”
“Why?’”
“I can still smell him on you.”
“And that upsets you?”
“Yes.”
“But you aren’t emotional.”
“No.”
She reached up and took the gel from the shelf. What a crock. “It will go faster if I do it myself.”
He took the bottle out of her hands. “I will finish what I started.”
And he did, starting at her shoulders and working down, massaging the soap into her skin, his touch sure and soothing, lingering in those areas where the most sensitive of nerves hid, bringing them to vivid life.
She braced back against the wall. “How do you do this to me?”
He palmed her buttocks, his big hands easily encompassing each globe. “We are mates.” His thumbs slipped between, riding the soap bubbles, skating the tight bud of her anus before coming back to rest against it. “It is right that we enjoy each other.”
She twisted away from the wall and his touch. “Not like this. Not when you’re angry.” Not with her as some sort of helpless puppet to which he held the strings.
As if her denial flipped a hidden switch, his calm disappeared. His “Yes, now” was a primitive growl. Almost as primitive as the hunger that narrowed his eyes and thinned his mouth. He yanked her against his chest. His lips met hers. Hot and demanding, calling forth her own hunger. Equally primitive. Equally demanding. She wrapped her hand in his hair, pulling him closer, arching into his chest, rubbing her nipples into the delightful abrasion of his hair, moaning when he caught her ribs and took up the motion.
“Yes.” He pulled his mouth from hers to kiss her eyes, her cheeks. “Moan for me, Edie mine. Let me hear your desire.”
As if she had any choice when he cupped her buttocks in his hands and ran his lips down her neck, nipping at the skin as he went, pressing his lips hard against the pulse at the base of her throat, summoning everything feminine and needy in her to screaming attention. He arched her farther over his arm. The pain in her abdomen blended with the wave of pleasure. One hand supported her head as he took the hard aching point of her nipple into his mouth. The tiny culmination pulled the moan he listened for from her lips. Water ran off his shoulders and slashed her face. The pounding of the shower was lost in the pounding of her heart. She needed him. So much.
She yanked on his hair. His laugh buffeted her breast. She fought his hold, his restraint. He merely gave her more, torturing her with his calm in the face of her desire. She let go of his hair and wedged her hand between them as he tortured her breasts. His cock bumped her fingers. She twisted her wrist.
He felt so good in her hand. Hard, strong pulsing with life. Promise. She milked him slowly, the catch in his breathing music to her ears. Pre-come spilled over her hand. He was as affected by her as she was by him.
“Do you hunger, my heart?” Deuce asked in a voice that breathed through her mind, her body, caressing her nerves with the ache of a touch.
She did. She needed him like she needed the other half of her soul. It didn’t make sense and it wasn’t comfortable, but it was true. However, she wasn’t a helpless puppet he was going to control by the strength of her desire. She tossed her wet hair out of her eyes, asking in a voice she wouldn’t have recognized as hers, so husky was it with want. “How about you? Do you want me, Dusan?”
His teeth grazed the upper curve of her breast. His cock throbbed against her thigh. “Always.”
“Show me how much.”
He froze. She tucked her chin and looked. He was looking back up at her. His eyes flared with something wild. His lips drew back from his teeth, exposing the fangs she’d never before seen clearly. Her heart leapt. She wanted to be fucked, not sucked. She cupped his face in her hands. “Or better yet, let me show you.”
He didn’t let her go, or otherwise move. He seemed quite content to keep her as she was, bent backward with her breasts thrust up for his delectation. Or bite, she realized as he scraped those scary fangs over her breasts.
“Deuce, let me up.”
“I like you like this.”
She had no doubt he did. And so did she on one level, but she also believed in starting as she meant to go on. And she did not intend to be any vamp’s sex toy. “You said it was your duty to give me whatever I need.”
He very slowly, very deliberately licked a drop of water from the slope of her chest. “It is.”
“I need to touch you,” she squeezed his cock as best she could, “taste you.”
CONCEPTION (The Others) Page 15
