by S. J. Harper
We won the auction. The shirt should be here sometime in the afternoon. Took the car. Will be back for you with breakfast around eight thirty.
I glance over at the clock hanging in the kitchen. It’s already eight.
Hydrate and bathe now. The caffeine fix will have to wait. I quickly fill a glass with cold, filtered water from the fridge, then head into the bathroom and run a tub, dumping in a generous amount of bath salts to soothe body and soul. I swallow two aspirin with the water, then quickly wash my face, brush my teeth. When I close the medicine cabinet, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair is a disaster. The few remaining pins come out. The long, dark waves tumble down around my shoulders. I brush it out, then quickly wind it back into a tight bun and secure it once again at the base of my neck.
I shut off the taps, slide into the tub, and lean back. Like always, the hot water does wonders. The din behind my eyes begins to subside. My shoulders start to relax. I inhale deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and vanilla that I’ve long used in my baths. My stomach growls. Now that my head is feeling better, hunger pangs set in. Just as I begin to wonder how much longer it will be before Zack shows up with breakfast, I hear the front door open, then close.
“Thank goodness! I’m starving,” I call out. “Think I can get you to make a pot of coffee?”
My only answer is the sound of footsteps crossing the wooden floor.
“Zack?”
The doorknob to the bathroom turns.
Instinctively, I reach for a towel. It slides off the nearby rack, onto the floor and out of reach.
Liz’s statement from yesterday flits through my mind. A King always has enemies. Being close to him puts you in danger. My eyes flash to the Glock, sitting on the coffee table. Nothing nearby can be effectively used as a weapon. All I have is myself, my innate power to influence, to seduce. I begin to lower my shields.
The door opens.
It’s Kallistos.
I breathe a sigh of relief and quickly pull my powers back in. The extreme energy required leaves me feeling drained.
Kallistos doesn’t look like he feels any better. Perhaps it’s due to the power shift he was unexpectedly exposed to. Perhaps it’s the combination of head-to-toe black clothing—cashmere mock turtleneck, light wool slacks, polished boots—and the unforgiving fluorescent lighting in the bathroom. For the first time since we met, he looks a little worse for the wear—paler than usual, with a light blue cast under his eyes.
“Everything okay?” I ask, suddenly concerned.
He crouches down next to the tub. “It is now.” His hand slides around the back of my neck. He lowers his forehead to mine. “I spent the night monitoring the situation at the ranch. Wade never showed.”
“No sign of Lamont?”
“None whatsoever. I came home right after sunrise. You weren’t in my bed. You didn’t answer my calls. I was worried.”
“I’m sorry. I worked late last night, overslept this morning. I didn’t check my messages.”
After releasing me, he slides to the floor, back against the bathroom door, legs stretched out. He rubs his eyes. Then sighs. “I was worried.”
I fold my arms on the rim of the old-fashioned cast-iron claw-foot tub. “You said that.”
“And then . . . jealous. Did I mention jealous?”
“You were jealous?”
He fixes his gaze on me. I see how serious he is. “Did you sleep with him, Emma?”
“Who?”
“Armstrong.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key to the penthouse. “You left the key at The Wellington. I know you were there with him last night. And I know you left with him. You brought him here. I can smell him. You’re expecting him to return.” He looks down at the key. “I’m not used to feeling these things,” he confesses. “They soften me. Weaken me. The well-being of my charges, the safety and security of my realm, need to be my primary concern. It’s the duty of a King. Above all else, that’s what I am, Emma. What I must be. This . . . concern . . . is a distraction.”
He means I’m a distraction. I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. “We were working,” I tell him. “We met Seamus at the Wellington to fill him in on Simon’s plan. Sarah’s not going to cooperate. It didn’t pan out.”
“I’m sorry.” It sounds as if he means it.
I continue. “Fortunately after a couple of old-fashioneds, Zack landed on an idea that might just work. Liz is going to take a shot at scrying. We came back here with takeout and spent a few hours lining up personal belongings. I went to bed just before midnight—alone. Zack’s supposed to pick me up around eight thirty and bring breakfast. I haven’t been staying here much during the last few months, you know. I don’t have any food.”
At that, a smile touches his lips. “You haven’t asked me how I traced you to The Wellington.”
“I know how you traced me to The Wellington. It’s why I left the key. I was angry. It took Liz all of two seconds to notice it was charged with enough mojo to power a small city. Why the deception? The pretense?”
He looks away, leans his head back against the door.
I wait patiently for an answer. Finally it comes.
“It wasn’t pretense, not exactly.”
“Then what?” I push myself out of the bath, reaching for the towel on the floor.
He grabs it first, rises, and holds it out for me. “I told you I’ve done things, had to do things, will continue to do things.”
I step out of the tub and allow him to wrap the towel around me, like he’s done so many times before. Then I turn to face him. “Are you saying you did it to purposely piss me off? To push me away?”
He lifts my chin. “Be careful. It would be dangerous to believe my intentions are noble. I’m anything but.”
“Really?” My taunting tone gets an unexpected rise.
I find myself pinned to the door. Hard, aroused vampire hovering over me. His mouth poised just above my neck. “Don’t push. I haven’t slept. Or fed.”
I feel his breath and hold my own. I respect he’s used to taking what he wants and the fact that he’s showing restraint. Despite my ire and doubt, I find my arousal begin to build, feel an impulse to invite him to feed, to sate what I recognize as incredible desire. I push it away.
“I have to get dressed,” I tell him.
“Armstrong can wait.” He snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. Pressing his cock into the softness of my belly. His fingers slip between my thighs.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
He pauses, lifts his head, searches my eyes. His fangs have descended; his normally vibrant, blue eyes are like lightning cutting through a cloud-filled sky—dark, swirling rays of silver slice through irises that are now black.
“I have to feed.”
“Is that the only reason you’re here?” I ask, although I already know the answer.
“Yes . . . No.”
Uncertainty is not an emotion Kallistos is comfortable with. The admission, even to himself, costs him. “Because I wanted it to be you. I need it to be you. Will you deny me?”
“Your priority right now is your Kingdom. Please understand, mine is finding these missing girls.”
I hear a knock. “Emma?”
It’s Zack.
He’s let himself in.
I place my hand on the side of Kallistos’ face. “You need to go. We need to start gathering the girls’ personal items. An old shirt belonging to Ford is being flown in. Everything we need to give scrying a shot will be here by this afternoon.”
He nods, his emotions now reined in. His fangs sheathed. Eyes back to that intensely captivating and deceptively pure blue. “Maybe I’ll take a sip or two from Armstrong before I leave to tide me over.”
I can’t help but smile. “You’d resort to that? Now you’re just trying to be purposely pitiful so I feel sorry for you.”
“I’d like to see you try, Kallistos!” Zack calls out.
> Kallistos rolls his eyes. “Please. I could go months without feeding and still kick his furry ass.”
I push him away, drop the towel, then grab the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. “I’ll let you know how things go with Liz.”
As I cinch the sash around my waist, Kallistos reaches out and drops the key into the pocket of my robe.
“Keep the key,” he says, then rephrases. “I’d be grateful if you kept the key.” It took pains, I’m sure, to make it a request instead of a command.
Before I can acknowledge the effort, he’s out the bathroom door. I hear Zack mumble something under his breath as Kallistos passes him, but whatever it was gets only a grunt from the vampire. The sound of the front door closing is like an effective dismissal, followed a moment later with Zack calling, “Coffee?”
I quickly slather sunscreen on my face. “Be your best friend.”
“Seriously? What would a bagel and cream cheese get me?”
My stomach growls unceremoniously, reminding me once again how hungry I am. I open the door to the bathroom. “You brought me a bagel?”
Zack is sitting on the sofa. He’s dressed in a fresh dark gray suit, starched white shirt, and black tie. A brown paper bag sits in front of him on the coffee table along with a cardboard coffee holder containing a single cup. He’s holding the second one in his hand. “Ate my bagel on the way over. Dig in. Mr. and Mrs. Roberts expect us by nine fifteen.”
I pop the lid off the coffee cup, lift it to my lips, and breathe in the aroma before taking a sip.
“How you feeling?” he asks as I sink down onto the sofa.
I lean my head back and close my eyes. “Like I drank too much wine, passed out, and slept in my clothes.”
A whiff of cinnamon forces them open again. Zack’s holding a bagel in front of my face. I reach for it and take a grateful bite. “How are you feeling?”
“Answering that will only annoy you,” he says.
Damned werewolf metabolism.
Then, a moment of hesitation before he asks, “Is he still feeding from you?”
As if that question won’t annoy me at all. I leave the bagel and coffee on the table in front of the sofa and head for my closet. “I thought we agreed that was none of your business?”
When he doesn’t answer, I turn around.
Instead of being across the room, where I’d left him, he’s right behind me.
“You agreed,” he answers. “You know the more you allow it, the more you’ll want it, crave it, crave him. I worry about you, Emma.”
I gaze into his eyes and I see the ache in them, the longing.
“Why?” I ask.
I get a sad smile. “You know why.”
His thumb glides across my cheek. I should have pulled away, but instead I lean into the caress.
His other hand moves toward my shoulder, ghosts across my collarbone. He pinches the fabric of my robe between his fingers and peels it back a few inches. I hold my breath.
“Zack.”
Fingers over my mouth force me to silence. Then they slide the other side of my robe from my shoulder. He circles round me. Warm hands slide down the length of my neck, over my shoulders. They pause.
“He didn’t just bite you. He marked you.” His fingers trace the scar. “This should have disappeared by now. He’ll mark you again. And then again and again. He’s not just feeding from you. He’s building a connection, one he’ll use to control you, manipulate you.”
Zack’s normally warm, brown eyes are now sky blue.
“Your eyes—”
He closes them. “Sorry. The beast isn’t as good as I am at pretending.”
“I should get dressed. We need to go.” I reach for the last clean black pantsuit that’s hanging in my closet and head for the bathroom.
Again, he follows. “My wolf, he wants to take away Kallistos’ mark.” Zack stops, filling the doorway. “Just say the word. I can break the cycle.”
“How? By trading one mark for another?” I hang my suit up on the shower rod.
“I’m not offering to mark you for myself. I’m offering to free you from him. Unlike a vampire’s, a wolf’s mark means something. It’s a mutual commitment. One made for life. That’s not what we’re talking about here.”
“What are we talking about?”
Zack appears to be weighing his words carefully. “We’re talking about doing what’s smart, what’s necessary. You said Kallistos would never get the upper hand. But it seems he has.”
Suddenly I feel trapped. I need to put distance between myself and Kallistos. I step back and stuff my hands into the pockets of my robe. My fingers wrap instinctively around the key card. It’s a tangible reminder of the truth of Zack’s words.
“Yes.” It comes out in a rush.
“You want me to remove the mark? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Do it.” I’m trying to focus on what Zack said about this being smart and necessary, nothing else. A wolf’s mark means something. But this will mean nothing. “Hurry. Let’s get it over with.”
But Zack doesn’t hurry. He takes his time, pulling me back, gently curving his body over mine. His is warm, impossibly warm, and I can feel it through my robe. Just as I feel his breath on my neck, feel the echo of his heartbeat in my own.
“Trust me?” he asks, his voice a low, intoxicating rumble.
I do trust him. “Completely.”
His fangs graze my skin. His cock, long and hard, presses against my back.
My breasts ache. My knees feel weak.
The familiar feel of him. It’s too much.
It’s not enough.
I brace my hand against the frame of the bathroom door and push back, offering him the friction I so desperately want for myself.
For a fleeting moment, his hand finds my breast. Then it slides down to my hip, stilling my movement. “Christ, Emma. I want you. You know I do. But not like this, with him between us. Just . . . let me do this. Hold steady. It will be over in a minute. Once it is, we’ll never speak of it again,” he says. Then he covers the mark with his mouth.
The feel of his lips at my neck makes my breath catch. His hands never stray from their steadying grip. He doesn’t press his body against me. He doesn’t allow me to press my body back against him. And yet when his fangs pierce my flesh, I start to tremble. Desire, violent, white-hot, threatens my control. I want him, over me, in me, loving me.
I can’t have what I want.
I clench my teeth to keep from crying out. It takes every bit of strength I have to remain still, to keep my traitorous body from responding to this touch.
In a minute, it’s over. Zack steps back. His hands fall away. He leaves me without a word, softly closing the bathroom door behind him.
I sink to the floor, breathless, heart pounding.
We came so close.
I rest my head against the cool porcelain of the bathtub, remaining still until I can breathe normally, until my heartbeat slows. Zack, intending to heal one wound, opened up so many others.
CHAPTER 17
The ride to Liz’s is quiet. Zack is driving. The package from Denver sits on the car seat between us. Evidence bags containing personal items from the three missing girls are in the backseat. We’ve barely spoken a dozen words to each other since leaving my apartment. I pop down the visor, pull back the collar of my black silk blouse as I check the mirror. My skin is pristine. No sign of Kallistos’ mark. More miraculously, no sign of Zack’s.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Zack watching me. Finally, he says, “This silence is unnerving.”
I flip the visor back up. “You’re the one who said we couldn’t talk about it.”
“We could talk about a million other things,” Zack says.
“Yeah. Name one.”
I drum my fingers on the FedEx box and wait. But his silence speaks volumes. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing I am.
“You know how when someone tells you not to think about an elephant
and the only thing you can think about is the damned elephant?” I ask him.
He nods.
“Well, this is one huge mammoth of an elephant, and what happened in my bathroom—what could have happened in my bathroom—has my stomach in knots.”
Zack doesn’t answer. His eyes remain studiously on the road but his hands clench and unclench on the steering wheel as if expecting a reply to be telegraphed to him through the leather. Finally he whispers, “Did you want something to happen?”
Yes. No. “We’re partners. We agreed that’s all it could be.”
Something as cold as an arctic breeze brushes the back of my neck. Demeter. Reminding me we’re navigating into dangerous waters, Zack and I, and of the consequences I risk. I straighten in my seat, pinch my shoulders back, put steel in my voice. “Partners, Zack, that’s all.”
His turns his face from the road. His eyes, when they meet mine, are as hard as my tone. “I remember. I thought for a minute you might have forgotten.”
I feel color burn my face. He’s right. I let him touch me under the pretense of removing Kallistos’ mark, but I wanted more. He felt it. How could he not?
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“What won’t happen again?” The words are sharp as a rapier. “Your letting Kallistos feed from you? Or taking pleasure from allowing me to remove evidence of it?”
How can I answer that? Before he pushes it, we’ve arrived at Liz’s condo. I’ve never been so happy to drop a subject. “Pull into that visitor’s space,” I say, nodding toward a vacant spot.
“I’ve been here before.”
Zack’s tone hasn’t softened. Liz is going to pick up on the tension between us the moment she opens her door.
