Zoey still didn’t speak, just stared at him.
“You were smiling, you were turned on, and then suddenly you were screaming at the top of your lungs.”
“You disappeared, right before we could…finish what we’d started…” She repeated his words from the dream. He raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I can understand being disappointed by that, love, but screaming bloody murder is a bit much.” He teased her, but her mood wouldn’t lighten.
“Andre, you dematerialized or something.” A thousand images raced through her mind. Her dead goldfish, her parents’ gravestones, Michael dead on a stainless steel table, their empty apartment, his wedding ring in the palm of her hand. All she could say was, “It scared me.”
A quiet rapping sounded at the door.
“Zoey?” It was Kos.
“Are you okay?” Lucas chimed in.
Andre watched her, and she nodded.
“She is all right,” Andre replied.
“I want to hear from her,” Lucas demanded.
“I’m fine,” she called out toward the door. “I had a nightmare. Really guys, I’m fine. Sorry for the drama.” She was glad they couldn’t hear her shaking.
Andre pulled a trembling Zoey into his arms and rocked her back and forth the way he had rocked young Kos and Bel after their bad dreams. Finally, the tension in her shoulders and neck gave way. She leaned into him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I needed to be close to you. So I tanked up on wine, slipped in here and planned to slip out before dawn. But then you began to dream and—”
“Is it dangerous?”
“I should be able to resist my hunger for you, for a while, so we are safe. Somewhat, at least.”
“Exactly how safe? I need to know.”
Her stare remained intense; she didn’t take her eyes off him. He realized what she was asking and his cock twitched. To have her again…he would do anything. But it was risky.
“Well…if we are careful. Possibly safe enough…”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“No, it is not.”
“How about a safe word? Like if I say ‘spatula’ then you remember not to bite me.”
“‘Spatula’? Why on earth would that work?”
“I don’t know. Can’t you tell I’m desperate? You disappeared in my arms. I need to feel you.”
She needed him? Davo, that felt good.
“Zoey…” He could remind her it would only make it harder if she decided to leave, but he did not want her to leave. He would make love to her. He would offer her his heart again. It was a way to ask her for forever.
“Please.”
He would give her everything, pour out his soul all over her peachy, soft skin. “I’m all yours.”
Zoey swung her legs off the bed, and hesitated to undress, but her heart told her dream-Andre’s response was true. She stood.
He came to her with hands outstretched. He surrounded her, cupping her ass and a breast at the same time, pulling her close. When she reached for his shirt, the dream threatened to swallow her up again, but she bit down on her lip and made short work of his buttons. He shrugged out of it.
He had the big body of a man who worked hard and ate well. He must have been a fearsome sight in Roman armor. There was a dusting of dark hair across his broad chest and down his belly.
He pulled her panties and top off, and began to kiss her neck and caress her thighs.
“Andre, I already dreamt the foreplay. You know what I need.”
She expected him to make a joke, maybe call her bossy as he had in the dream. Instead, he tilted her chin up so he could see her face fully.
“Zoey, love, I want to give you what you need. But you are very shaken. Are you sure it will help?”
“It will help get me through.”
After a curt nod, he tossed her onto the bed.
In one motion he lifted and spread her legs while sinking into her all the way. She grunted as her muscles clenched, resisting and welcoming him at the same time. Then she relaxed and bent her knees to open wider, cradling his hips between her own.
Somehow he knew to stay still. He pressed her into the bed with his weight. That was what she needed—to feel he was real, he was there. A part of her wanted to close her eyes and lose herself to the sensation of him filling her. But she needed every sense focused on his presence to keep her fear at bay. She looked at his lips and they were on hers in a second. His eyes were closed for the kiss.
All the while, he didn’t move inside her.
His big hand went to her breast and squeezed it hard, harder. Perfect. He read her perfectly, sensing just what she needed. No gentle caresses. Panic still lingered deep in her muscles and bones, but the firmness of his touch distracted her. Their kisses were so deep their teeth clacked together. Still his eyes were closed. He ground into her: pubic bone against her sensitive spot. Zoey moaned. But still he didn’t thrust. She gasped, exhilarated by sex or fear of letting go, she wasn’t sure.
Finally, he began to move inside her. He found the angle she liked immediately, like they’d been lovers all their lives. She rocked her hips to meet his thrusts, never taking her eyes off him.
He looked over her body. “Seeing you like this…moving like this, sweating with sex…davo, you are beautiful.”
He bit her nipple, hard. Then he licked away the ache. She clenched around him at the pleasure. When it subsided, he attacked her other breast, causing her to pulse around him again. “You feel so good around me,” he said. Her fear began to give way to pleasure.
Starting between her breasts, he licked over her breastbone, into the hollow at the base of her neck and finally up under her chin. It made her shiver and clench again. He laughed. She loved that laugh, that smile. It pushed the fear out of her mind.
As if he knew exactly what she needed, Andre became even more intent on pounding into her, fast and deep. He held her arms above her head, tilting her hips to receive all of him. He was there, solid, real, filling her. Every time he stroked her the right way, she grew less afraid, like he was tamping down her fear as he drove into her.
“Were you made for me, sweet?” He reached down between them and found where she most liked to be touched. Like his bites to her breasts, he pinched her clit between his fingers, hard. Then he stroked her and thrust into her in time. At once, the pressure began to build inside Zoey and she bore down on him. “So tight,” he whispered. He pulled all the way out of her and came back in fast, sending her over the edge.
When Andre felt her coming, he locked his jaw closed for fear of his fangs. Then he exploded inside her with a force he had not felt…in a long time? Ever? He did not know.
He rolled them so that she was above him and she sat up with him still inside her.
She smiled a satisfied smile. But it was wrong. It was one of those that did not touch her eyes. Where had she gone? His gut twisted with worry.
He put his hands on her hips. “Zoey?”
“That was great. I feel so much better. God, you know how to fuck. Thank you.”
Her words were like a slap. “Zoey, that was not a fuck and you know it.”
“You’re right. I had a bad dream. You comforted me. It was sweet. Nice job not biting, by the way.” She climbed off him, and pulled the sheet around herself.
A chill went up his spine. “I ought to bite you now. Do not pull away from me after that.”
“Pulling away?” she said. “I thought we were both staying away.”
“I was wrong. We should not stay away. I want you. I want you forever. I want you to stay. I want your blood in my body.” He could not stop himself, and the words came out all at once. It was a mistake. Maybe if he had given her space, she would have warmed up again.
“Andre, you don’t want that. It’s the blood hunger talking. Neither one of us wants that.”
“I am not hungry. I’m in love with you.”
She looked away from him.
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His fierce, beautiful Zoey looked away.
His mouth went bitter where he still tasted her kisses. She had used him and rejected him. If he tasted her blood, the acrid shadow of revulsion would surely linger in it, just like it had Mila’s, for all those years.
He had offered her his heart, poured out his soul, but thank the gods of his father, he had not tasted her blood.
With his clothes in hand, he walked out and down the hall, naked, miserable, and unloved.
Chapter 35
“MAYBE A FERTILIZER BOMB would dismantle the shield.” Atop the stack of wooden pallets, thick fingers slid a pack of matches next to an upside down coffee mug, sans handle, representing the Kaštel Estate.
Ethan’s lips pulled into a sneer of their own accord, and he covered his mouth. Too bad they didn’t have any little plastic soldiers for their war play. After wiping away his expression, he said, “Mick, with that shield in place, getting into Kaštel is no longer a matter of force. We’ll have to outsmart them, or lure them from the estate.”
“Let’s hear Mick out,” his father said. “Are you thinking a truck bomb, like Oklahoma City?”
“And if that fails, will you subject your bombers to the same discipline as your fake Highway Patrolmen?” Not that he pitied them; they’d earned the beating their comrades had delivered. “Too many failed attempts, and the men will blame their leaders, not each other. Especially after you let Lucas get away.”
Stephen hurled the coffee mug at the wall. It bounced, denting plaster but landing unharmed on the carpet. His father was a child, Ethan thought.
What a shame that he had to teach strategy to these amateurs. When he was young, he’d admired them so much. Had he simply grown up and learned to do things better, or had the Hunters become more incompetent? It hardly mattered. In the end it was simply true—they were failures and he never failed. He would have to take things into his own hands soon, and his plan was foolproof.
“What’s your proposal then?” His father’s tone was challenging, but sullen.
Ethan examined his father, who inched backward under the inspection. Was he ready to pass on the mantle, hoping Ethan could succeed where he was failing?
“I’d like more information. How is it possible the younger Marasović can fly? By all reports he’s lived in exile all but a few years of his life.”
“The only way to get answers is to capture a vampire or someone in the household,” Mick said. “Unless you want to call up your Porter woman and see if she’ll spill the beans on her new lover.”
Inexplicably, Ethan felt his pulse quicken. He’d given up on Zoey when he’d ordered the attack on Kaštel. But maybe she wasn’t lost. How deep was Zoey in? Had Marasović seduced her? Or had she returned out of sensitivity? She’d never seemed like the type to adopt a puppy from the animal shelter, but…
“It’s worth a try,” he said, rising from the crate where he sat to step outside and place the call.
He got voicemail. “Zoey, listen. I’m worried about you. I’m sorry about the attack. I wish they hadn’t done that and I want to get you out of there. I don’t know what Maras has told you, but you can’t believe a word he says. Charm and seduction are how he survives, but at heart, he’s a predator. Call me, and I’ll find a way to rescue you.”
Normally, he took pride in his ability to predict people’s actions several steps ahead. But Zoey had always been unpredictable. He hung up, utterly uncertain whether she would call him back. But his still-racing heart confirmed he was not entirely indifferent to the outcome. She’d chosen a vampire over him, and still, he wanted her for his own.
Shielding his eyes from the morning light, he tilted the screen of his phone until there was no glare and checked his email. A message from Dr. William Oliver topped the list. It said he was available around lunchtime that day to go over the translation. Ethan agreed to the meeting, suggesting a time and place.
Pedro was dizzy, and his head felt like it was going to explode. It was the worst headache he’d ever had. Only it didn’t hurt—it just felt like it should. Even without pain, it was seriously unpleasant. Bel was right, thoughts raced through his brain much faster than before. He would have thought that was cool. It wasn’t. He wished he could turn it off. But sleep was no longer an option.
He grunted, squeezing his eyes against nonexistent light in his pitch-black room. Rolling over, he buried his face in his pillow. The smell of goose was so ripe he may as well have stuck his nose up the bird’s ass. He threw it across the room and heard something fall over at impact. He didn’t care what it was; he crammed his face in the crook of his arm. Thank God his mattress was synthetic.
His head demanded he lie perfectly still. He closed his eyes and found himself in Ethan Bennett’s hands again. His lids flew open. Cold sweat formed all over him. The remembered pain was only a shadow, but it sliced across his skin and sent ice up his bones. He drew his knees up underneath him like a child.
He had told Kos he was glad he hadn’t hanged himself, but that was only true about ten percent of the time. The other ninety percent, he wished he was dead. He would give anything to erase the memories of the shed, and Ethan’s sick little tool kit. He trusted that feeling would pass, if for no other reason than he was likely to live long enough to get over it. But he’d be stuck with it for a good long while.
A chair creaked as Lucas shifted in it.
Lucas—the witness to his humiliation, worse even than the pain. He had been unable to protect himself, in spite of all his precautions. Lucas had beaten him to a pulp and seen him cry like a baby. Even if that Hunter piece of shit had been trying to save him all along, he couldn’t forgive Lucas for seeing him humiliated. Maybe it was unfair, but all his anger at the Hunters was concentrated on Lucas.
Yep, he’d been hot for Lucas, and now he was even hotter for his blood.
Shame, anger, lust, and blood. And to top off that perfect cocktail of fucked-up, desperate not to be alone, Pedro had ordered Lucas to sit with him. What could possibly go wrong?
He rolled over and looked through barely opened eyelids. With his new vision, the shadows cast shadows in a pitch-black room. Lucas sat, tipped back in his chair with his head leaning against the wall. His breathing was regular, his eyes closed. The son of a bitch was sleeping, an escape no longer available to Pedro.
Could Andre send Lucas away, somewhere safe and far? And if so, could Pedro do without the blood in Lucas’s veins?
The lines of Lucas’s face were long and handsome, his features fine and his nose narrow. Pedro remembered them twisted in cruelty as he had beaten him. He recoiled, and must have made a sound because Lucas’s eyes slid open.
“Does it hurt? Your head, I mean.”
The words were a mallet on his eardrums, thundering. “Shut up.”
Lucas was silent, but Pedro could see he was wide awake. They stared at each other for the better part of an hour, although he wasn’t certain Lucas could see him.
“When I was a teenager I got migraines. A hot shower helped.”
“Are you trying to piss me off? I may be a baby vampire, but I feel strong. I’m almost certain I could snap you in half.”
“Fine.” He could tell Lucas wasn’t the least bit frightened and that infuriated him. Did he doubt his anger? Did Lucas think he owed him something for saving him? Screw that.
He moved fast so Lucas wouldn’t know what was coming. In a matter of seconds, he had him by the neck. Pedro stepped onto the chair to gain the height he needed to dangle him in a chokehold. It seemed fair, to strangle Lucas in the manner he’d planned for his own suicide. Lucas didn’t struggle, but Pedro could smell a tart human stink, and his new instinct told him was fear. The ba-boom of the man’s heart was a frickin’ bass drum in his ear.
That was better. He had control; Lucas knew he was in charge. The power was intoxicating.
He threw Lucas down onto the bed face first. With newfound lightness, he dropped down. The ball of one foot glanced off the fl
oor and he and pounced on Lucas. He sat astride the lean torso, wrapping his hands around his long throat.
His head was miraculously cleared by the action. The choice became clear: Which will make you feel better, his submission or his death?
“Do you realize I could do anything I want to you?” The threat was meant to be violent. Only after he said it did the other, sexual threat, occur to him. A flash flood of blood went to his cock. This was a new side of himself. Teeth pressed together, he felt like a wolf when he smiled into the dark. He would dominate Lucas in every way he wanted to, make Lucas feel the kind of fear he had felt.
Lucas turned his face to the side so he could speak. “I understand why you want to scare me.”
“No. You don’t.”
“I’m not saying I’ve been there. I’m saying it makes sense to me.” Lucas tried to push up and face him.
“I don’t care.” He spread his fingers around Lucas’s skull and forced it back down and pressed his knees into Lucas’s side.
Muffled by the mattress, Lucas said, “It probably makes no difference to you, but I’m sorry. I wish I could have saved you from the whole thing.”
Hearing Lucas say it made all the difference, as much as Pedro wished it didn’t. It was a drop of water in an ocean of hate, but it made all the difference.
“Go to hell,” he said, standing and going into the bathroom to splash water on his face. When he came back, Lucas was gone.
Chapter 36
HOW LONG HAD SHE BEEN in the shower? Zoey didn’t know. Her skin was pink from the long exposure to heat. God only knew how red her eyes were from the gallons of tears she’d shed. She assumed the water would eventually turn cold, but somehow steaming warmth rained down on her until she’d had enough.
Now it was time to leave.
It was just like that old saying about moths and flames. She’d been so sure she wasn’t a moth, but apparently, she was wrong. She certainly felt singed around the edges. Her panic was barely under control. Some part of her had claimed Andre, had fallen for him hard, and that rebellious portion was fighting to keep her at Kaštel. But the other part knew she had to leave and that part would win. It had to.
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