by CC MacKenzie
He recognised her dismay by the way she winced, by the way she went too pale, too fast.
Shit.
He'd hurt her, confused her.
And no fucking wonder.
He was the one who'd made the first move, taken the first kiss.
His eyes clung to hers, he couldn't help it.
The things he wanted to do to her, dirty, filthy things, played like a film in his mind.
Closing his eyes to the scent of her heightened sexual arousal, he begged his vampyre to please calm down. Then the hair on the back of his neck prickled and rose as the beast within stirred. His vampyre felt the presence of his own kind moving towards them, and growled a warning. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus could see his Centuri taking position. James had his back against his. Every vampyre in the room wanted Anais and they wanted her now.
Abruptly the situation had becoming too volatile, too dangerous.
And he only had himself to blame.
Why the hell hadn't he listened to his brother?
It nearly killed him, but he managed to pull himself together, and hoped to Christ he could get himself, and Anais, out of here in one piece.
Anais stared up into that harsh face.
A darkly dangerous face.
His eyes were unreadable as he looked at her.
Heat flooded her cheeks, mortification, shame, that she could have behaved like that, kissed him like that, like a wanton, right in the middle of a crowded restaurant, made her bite down hard on her bottom lip until it bled.
The sound that rose from his chest, was that a feral growl, made her eyes fly to his.
His flat, narrow gaze chilled her blood.
Without a word, he dropped her wrist, stepped away.
Confused, her mind struggled to understand.
He'd kissed her, too, taken her right to the very edge and then thrust her away as if uninterested.
"We shouldn't have done that," she admitted now, and wondered why he looked as if he could strangle her. Undaunted, she battled on, "We work together, that was completely unprofessional."
Now his eyes narrowed in a face that could have been carved in stone.
"We do not work together, Anais. After today, and after what has just happened between us, surely you understand that?"
Brain and body still reeling after The Kiss, Anais struggled to think logically.
He'd sacked her?
Her career was finished, over?
Then why had he brought her out tonight to talk?
And what the hell had The Kiss been about?
A quickie with an ex-employee?
Her face flooded with humiliation.
For the second time in one day fury with him, and with herself for her response to him, rose so fast in her lungs that her chest felt too tight.
"Go to hell, Marcus."
Turning, Anais dashed through the tables, through the too interested faces with the raised eyebrows, past the sly laughs, the whispers, and headed for the rest room.
Once there she shot into a cubicle, banged the door closed, locked it.
With her eyes tightly closed she leaned against the door, a trembling hand covered her mouth.
What on earth had just happened?
She couldn't stop shaking.
Her breasts were aching, throbbing with a need so extreme she crossed her arms to ease their tender tips. What was happening to her? Maybe she was sick? One minute she was hot, too hot. The next minute, she was cold, icy cold. She shivered as her fingers again pressed against lips still stinging by his kiss. Kiss? He hadn't just kissed her. He'd possessed her, electrified her, devoured her right in the middle of the dance floor and not only that, she'd been right there with him every single step of the way. The hectic thump, thump, thump of her heart, sounded too loud in her ears, matching the pulse of her swollen lips. She licked her lips. Dear God, she could still taste him, feel the pressure, the endless pleasure of his mouth. Even now she wanted more, much more. Worst of all the pulse matched the liquid beat between her legs, made her moan out loud. But what terrified her most of all was the realisation that if he'd stripped her and touched her and taken her right on the floor in front of complete strangers she would have been utterly powerless to stop him, to stop herself.
She simply could not understand her behaviour.
At heart Anais knew she was inherently a shy woman.
She'd certainly never been promiscuous or wanted to be the centre of attention, so why had she behaved like a tart with her boss in the middle of a room full of people? What the hell had happened to her?
Behind her hand she swallowed a cry when she remembered that Marcus was no longer her boss.
In one day she'd not only lost her job, she'd lost her self-respect, too.
Way to go, Anais.
Hot tears burned in her throat, in her eyes, and she battled like a warrior to force back the pity party.
Anger and a sense of disappointment with Marcus rose within her now.
How dare he put her in a situation like this?
Who the hell did he think he was to treat her like a piece of meat?
Deep in her heart she admitted now that she'd put Marcus Gillespie on a pedestal. She'd admired his lethally sharp mind, admired his bone deep work ethic, admired his values. Now she wondered how he'd managed to hide the real man from her. For months she'd fought a losing battle against his fatal attraction telling herself that the mind was more important than mere looks. Well that theory had been blown right out of the water in front of a room full of people, and worse, Marcus's brother James.
Remembering the clipped tone when James Gillespie had told them to get a room, another wave of shame burned a searing path up her neck and flamed into her cheeks.
Oh God, what on earth was she going to do?
Deciding she could hardly hide here all night, Anais took a deep cleansing breath, flushed the toilet and opened the door.
At the sink to her right, there was a tall woman dressed in black.
But Anais was too agitated to look at her as she hurriedly washed and dried her hands.
Pulling tissues out of a box with an agitated hand, she blotted the perspiration from her top lip. With a shaky hand she dabbed at her forehead, and then her eyes rose to meet the woman's in the mirror.
She froze.
Anais stared dead into the eyes of a killer.
***
"Get a grip of your vampyre," James growled in Marcus's ear.
The anxiety in his brother's voice managed to drag a deep breathing Marcus back from the brink. The room was spinning, his heart battering so hard against his ribs his fist rubbed the spot. He was in deep trouble. His vampyre's roars of lust and need for its mate was raging in his head, the beast threatening to take charge. To centre himself Marcus stared hard at the floor and kept his mouth tightly shut to hide his fangs. If humans saw his condition and reacted there was the possibility of widespread panic. And that panic would feed his vampyre's hunger.
What was happening to him?
James took his arm in a very tight grip to lead the way back to their table.
Using a self-control he'd honed over hundreds of years, a control he usually could rely on, Marcus fought a war of attrition with his vampyre forcing it to calm the hell down.
He sat and took a deep breath.
Reaching for his wine glass, the way his hand trembled as if he had a fever seriously unnerved him. The sting in his groin was so merciless he wanted to whimper like a baby.
All he'd done was kiss her.
One kiss.
And he'd gone up in flames.
James picked up the bottle, topped up their wine. "Get this down you. Your yearning is taking over. It's hellish. This is what I've been trying to tell you for months, you dumbass..."
"Good evening, gentlemen."
The low voice was one hundred per cent testosterone with the clipped chords of the orient. Marcus wasn't so far gone that he didn't miss the pissed-off tone eithe
r. He closed his eyes tight and wondered what else could go wrong this night.
The man who'd interrupted James's tirade looked like a movie star.
A harder, younger version of Jet Li, with skin the color of milky coffee. His jeans were butter soft black leather that rode low on his hips and hugged lean but powerful thighs. His black short sleeved T-shirt could have been painted on him showcasing hard-as-steel pecs. The tattoo of a snake, a black mamba, wound its way around his right tricep. In Chinese folklore the snake symbolised gracefulness, wisdom, perceptiveness, gentleness and calmness. Well four out five wasn't bad, no way in hell could the vampyre that stood before them be called gentle.
On legs that weren't quite steady, Marcus stood and in a gesture of respect he bowed from the neck.
"My Lord, please join us."
Another chair appeared and the vampyre sat between Marcus and James.
Another glass and a fresh bottle of wine was set on the table.
The waiter poured wine into the glass.
And all the while Marcus could feel the intensity of the Precedential Elder's laser eyes on his face.
Shanghai was Damasio Casta's city.
Eyes as cold as ice stared into his.
"It appears you need time alone, a time for reflection, Marcus. What the fuck do you think you are doing? Are you trying to start a blood riot in my City?"
"I apologise, Damasio. Things got a little... a little..."
"Out of hand?" the Precedential Elder finished for him.
"Something like that," said a Marcus who simply wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. God, his father was going to kill him for this. Vampyre politics were complicated, as were rituals, manners, of polite society. By almost losing it this evening, he'd brought shame to his house, his family. Worse, he'd upset the woman who was his bonded-mate-to-be, in public and in front of Damasio. Could the night get any worse?
Damasio sipped his wine and never took his eyes from Marcus's face.
Yep, the night most definitely could get a whole lot worse.
"You are to be congratulated on your choice of mate. She is incredibly beautiful, Marcus," said Damasio in a silky voice. "But tell me, what were you thinking to bring an uninitiated in here while you are in this condition?"
Feeling like a fool Marcus gave a jerky shrug. "I didn't know it would feel like this."
Shaking his head, Damasio took a deep sip of his wine.
"And you are stupid enough to think the bloodstone will protect her?"
"No one dare touch her," said Marcus, his voice no more than a low growl of warning.
Dark eyes stayed on his for two heart beats and then narrowed.
"I keep forgetting how very young you are, prince. And how very, very foolish."
Before he could respond Marcus felt the hair on the back of his neck rise along with an electrically charged sensation that trickled unpleasantly across his skin.
Apparently, as did Damasio who jolted upright, dark eyes filled with excitement, before he spun in his chair. "Can you feel the pressure change in the atmosphere?"
James stood, vivid blue eyes raking the room for the threat. "It feels like a thousand pin pricks rolling over my skin," he murmured in a low voice.
Damasio's black brows rose.
"Excellent description. Have you experienced it before?"
James shook his head.
"No."
Now Damasio's eyes slitted as they stared out of the window into the night.
"Remember it well, prince. It is the only warning we will receive."
Damasio rose, his eyes went sharp and predatory as they scanned the room, the cavernous ceiling.
The unpleasant sensation slowly eased away and left Marcus curiously tired. It wasn't a sensation he was used to. The Vampyre Elder stood absolutely still with his head tipped to the side as if listening for something.
Marcus wanted answers.
"A warning of what?" he demanded to know.
Damasio shrugged.
"Something. Nothing. With magic who knows"
Magic?
Marcus didn't believe in magic. Magic was for bedtime stories, fairytales, to scare the young.
Without saying a word of farewell, Damasio was surrounded by his personal guard as he walked away.
Frowning, James watched Damasio's progress through the room.
"Cryptic bastard, isn't he?" he said as he took his seat. Then he turned to look at Marcus. "I'm hearing rumours of Legion activity in the City tonight. And Anais is attracting too much of the wrong type of attention. Take her back to the hotel."
But Marcus wasn't listening.
His vampyre was suddenly on a heightened state of alert and then he felt it. A low rumbling that rose through his feet, into his legs and up his torso.
The building began to tremble and the noise bellowed in his ears.
"What the hell is that?" James yelled.
The earth shuddered beneath their feet as a roaring sound became deafening.
Earthquake?
Vast crystal chandeliers on the ceiling were shivering in a crazy dance as glasses toppled on tables to smash on the floor.
Women started to scream, and all Marcus could think about was Anais as he raced to the last place he'd seen her.
Chapter Six
The female who was standing in her personal space with blood red eyes staring holes right through her, was not human. She was not human. Her logical mind might be telling her she was wrong, but Anais knew it with every beat of the racing thump thump thump of her heart. The creature was tall and rail thin, almost six feet in height. She wore a black silk cheongsam, which looked as if it had been painted on curves a supermodel would be proud of. The sleek hair was as blue black as night and pulled back severely from her face in a tight high tail. Her pale skin was so flawless she appeared almost... alien.
Unblinkingly, the creature stared at Anais and cocked her head in a way that was utterly inhuman.
Those unemotional eyes never left hers, not once. They studied Anais now as if she was something smeared upon a Petri dish. And the scent of her breath was... odd... not unpleasant. The aroma forcibly reminded Anais of freshly butchered meat.
''So, the chosen one of a prince." Her voice was low and Anais caught a rhythmic idiom... European? The female's slim white hand lifted, long fingers moved as if to touch the bloodstone which felt warm against her chest. But those fingers hovered and stopped just short. Anais couldn't tear her eyes from the too long fingernails painted poppy red. Then those fingers went into a claw shape. "You are weak, feeble," the woman said in a tone dripping with contempt. "But not yet bound to him. Fascinating."
Bound to him?
Bound to whom?
Mouth bone dry, Anais spoke, "I think you've made a mistake. I don't know any prince."
The woman's strange eyes went wide with something like surprise and then her mouth curved and it was the most horrific thing Anais had ever seen. Needle sharp fangs, dazzlingly white, glinted against the red of her lips. Anais couldn't move. She was paralysed to the spot. Terror clawed at her belly, at her throat. The need to flee took over as Anais spun toward the door to find the creature now standing before her. The cry of alarm that escaped her throat had the creature's eyes glitter with sheer malice.
She stepped into Anais and sniffed the air, like a lioness scented prey.
"You dare to lie to me. He has marked you as his, you foolish creature. So arrogant and now he is too late. You belong to me."
Anais had no idea who or what the hell the thing was talking about and she didn't want to know. All she wanted to do was to get out there.
Then the creature went utterly still and those terrifying eyes went too wide with something like dismay.
The creature hissed out an incensed breath.
"Bad timing, my Lord. Bad timing."
Anais wasn't going to hang around to find out what had alarmed the woman. With all her might she shoved her out of the way and opened the doo
r to flee. But a hand caught her wrist in a grip so preternaturally ruthless it might crumble bone to dust.
Anais turned to stare down at the back of her hand.
Her eyes went wide.
Horror rose like acid into her throat.
Instead of fingernails, the creature had what looked like lethal claws carving through the flesh and bone of her hand. The pain was so intense Anais could hardly take a breath to cry out.
Something beyond fire burned a relentless path up her arm.
Anais opened her mouth to shriek and then the world went mad.
The floor was vibrating and a terrible roaring sound like a jet engine made her cry out.
Abruptly she was free.
Anais ran head first into a wave of humanity running towards her.
Disoriented, from behind someone pushed her so hard she fell. The polished marble floor was unforgiving to elbows and knees. Dazed, she looked up to the ceiling to see a huge chandelier dripping with crystals snap, hang for a split second, before falling to crash upon a crowded round table, sending lethal shard of glass everywhere.
She held up her hands to protect her face and cried out again when a heavy weight fell on top of her crushing the breath from her lungs.
And the world went dark.
***
"Anais!" roared Marcus.
A sharp blade of fear for her slid horribly down his spine. In his mind his vampyre howled like a lone timber wolf.
The initial quake lasted no more than forty seconds, but to Marcus those seconds were a lifetime. An aftershock made the floor and walls shake. Whimpers and wails of distress soon turned again into screams. Frantic, his eyes darted around the area and the entrance to the rest rooms where humans had gone down like dominoes.
"I can't see her. Can you see her?" he yelled at his brother. He knew he sounded frantic, desperate, like a mad man.
James pointed. "Over there!"
He turned and spotted a Centuri warrior dressed as a doorman lifting people and with something like a fist of dread squeezing his heart Marcus recognised the red dress.
Anais lay utterly still right at the bottom of a pile of bodies.
Within moments Marcus held her, limp and floppy, in his arms and carried her to a low couch. Fighting back sheer panic, he laid her down. He smoothed his thumb over her carotid where her pulse, thank God, tripped too fast. His own heart quickened, too, responding to the fluid flowing through her veins. With a hand that trembled, he removed the gold chopsticks hanging at a crazy angle and released her hair. He brushed fingers through the waterfall of slippery black silk. Quickly he ran his hands over her arms and legs and then her torso. Once he realised she'd had the wind knocked from her and she appeared unhurt, except for a few bruises, his heart went from a gallop to a trot.
