by Virna DePaul
“Caleb, I was wondering . . .”
He returned his attention to Natia, surprised by his annoyance. He’d wanted to watch Wraith dance a little longer. Make sure she and the male didn’t get any closer, or else—
Or else what? He mentally snorted. Would he walk over like a jealous lover and challenge the vamp to a duel? It was a ridiculous thought. Nonetheless, he looked over at Wraith again, only vaguely listening to what Natia was saying.
“. . . you can come to dinner and meet with Mother. Try one more time to explain. What do you think?”
His jaw tightened when Wraith’s dance partner placed a hand on her waist, caressing her over her leather jacket. Swallowing the growl of displeasure rising in his throat, Caleb shook his head and turned back to Natia. “I’m sorry, sweet. What were you asking?”
She frowned. “I was saying, why don’t you come up to my room for a drink? We can spend the night together. Then tomorrow we can fly to Los Angeles and you can have dinner with Mother.”
His brows rose, but not because of her suggestion that they spend the night together. He’d known that’s where Natia was headed. But as for dinner with “Mother” . . . He’d rather be back in that warehouse taking his chances with the Hyperion gas. “Your mother hates me, Natia. As do most of your clan. Given what’s happened recently to your cousins, they’ll be even more suspicious of outsiders, let alone someone accused of killing Elijah.”
Natia looked away at the mention of her brother’s name, but then met Caleb’s gaze once more. “The drug rapes occurred while you were in Korea, Caleb. Even Mother wouldn’t accuse you of having something to do with that. And as for Elijah . . .” She bit her lip and trailed a hand down his arm. “I should have stood by you. Announced my faith in you. But I was so upset. I didn’t know who to trust or . . .” Tears filled her eyes. Seeing her genuine regret, Caleb sighed.
He hugged her close, and she wrapped her arms around him. Her sweet, familiar scent filled his lungs, making him reconsider. Perhaps he should take her up on her invitation. Lose himself in her sweet body and then try, one more time, to talk to her mother . . .
But it suddenly occurred to him that sweetness didn’t hold the appeal for him that it once might have. He wanted more. He wanted complexity. Shadows. A bitterness to make the pleasure of being in a woman’s arms and inside her body all the more intense. And he didn’t want to convince someone to have faith in him. He wanted more than that.
As he slowly pulled away from Natia’s embrace, his gaze once again swept to Wraith.
Dumb shit, he berated himself. She’s dead. She’s beyond bitter. And most of all, she’s not interested.
“Caleb? Are you even listening to me? What’s gotten into you?”
He forced himself to turn back to Natia. She was pissed, her gaze moving from Caleb to Wraith with clear jealousy. Not good. A feline who thought her territory was being poached on was volatile and unpredictable. And even though he was no longer her territory, that wouldn’t stop Natia from confronting Wraith. Caleb actually shuddered as he imagined what the two females could do to one another. The scene wouldn’t be something Knox or Felicia would appreciate, that was for sure. Taking Natia’s hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed it. “You’re a guest of the Devereaux clan, aren’t you? Because a drink is sounding really nice.”
It was both truth and lie. A drink did sound nice, but he hadn’t fallen off the wagon since joining the team. Granted, he was on vacation now, but he knew how easily one drink could turn into two, and that into a desperate need for more. Still, the longer he watched Wraith and that vamp, the more convinced he became that a drink would do far more good than not. That some needs were far more dangerous than others.
Natia beamed, all thoughts of Wraith apparently forgotten. “Yes. I’ll . . . I’ll be waiting for you. Give me ten minutes to get ready.”
“Sure.”
As she walked away, her security team moved like stealthy specters, shadowing her even as they blended in with the crowd. Caleb told himself to go with her. At the very least, to wait out the ten minutes on the patio, where he could get some fresh air. She might be expecting more than he was willing to give her, but at least she would be out of Wraith’s vicinity. They could talk, and he’d figure out what to do then. Cursing beneath his breath, he strode toward the doors leading to the gardens outside.
He paused. He looked back. He gritted his teeth.
The vamp had his hands all over Wraith. On her bare skin now—caressing the vulnerable flesh at her throat.
Like the rest of her kind, Wraith was thought to have been human at one time until she appeared on earth, the living dead with no pulse, and no memory of who or what she was. There were many mysteries surrounding her kind, but one thing was universally known—touching their bare skin caused them pain.
He knew the vampire’s prolonged touch had to be hurting Wraith like hell, but she took it, peering up at the vamp flirtatiously, a raw, sexual smile on her lips. The vamp’s hand moved, and Caleb saw her cringe—an imperceptible flinch that highlighted the lines of distress near her eyes. Instantly, he thought of the scars on her throat and how they’d gotten there.
He took a swift look around the room, instinctively searching for his team to help out Wraith. The were, Dex Hunt, hadn’t bothered showing up, and he didn’t know where Lucy was. Mahone had left. Knox and Felicia hadn’t arrived after the ceremony, but he knew Knox didn’t give a damn how rude that might seem. The dharmire had finally won the body, heart, and soul of his human female and would likely have to be dragged away before he left her bed. Although Knox’s parents, Bianca and Jacques Devereaux, were here, they were dancing under the watchful eyes of their guards, with no reason to suspect a wedding guest was being hurt by one of their clan.
Without hesitating, Caleb moved across the room.
“You know I can make it worth your time, Wraith. I’ve done it before.”
Wraith shot Colt a practiced smile. “By ‘it,’ you mean making me come?”
Eyes narrowing, the vamp she hadn’t seen for two years returned her smile with one of his own. “Making a wraith, and particularly you, come isn’t an easy feat, so I wouldn’t speak so dismissively if I were you.” Once more, he rubbed the side of her neck with his thumb, but she barely noticed the sting of pain, let alone felt any pleasure.
It was as if she were completely dead now, not even able to recall the memory of physical pleasure Colt had once given her. She leaned away from his touch.
“We did it a few times. It means nothing. Leave it in the past, Colt, where it belongs. Things are different now.” She was clean, for one. Plus, she’d long grown accustomed to doing without a male’s touch.
Instinctively, her gaze fluttered to Caleb, who was grinning and flirting with an exotic and buxom feline on the dance floor. A feline princess, she’d been told, named Natia. Due to the film over her eyes, she couldn’t tell what color the female’s hair was—it looked like several shades of gray, just like everything else in her life.
“Yes, I can see they are,” Colt murmured, then tilted his head to Caleb and the feline. “She’s gorgeous, but no match for you, doll.”
At Colt’s knowing tone, Wraith snapped her gaze back to his. She knew that if it were possible for her to flush, she’d be doing it right now. As it was, she struggled to keep her expression free of guilt. “Look, I don’t know why you’re here or how you knew where to find me, but if Knox finds out, he’ll—”
Colt chuckled. “He’ll what? He’s heir apparent to the royal vamp throne. It’s his wedding, and he invited the whole clan, Wraith. I’m part of the clan. You being here is raising more questions than my presence. Most of these folks probably have never even seen a wraith.”
She ground her teeth at his condescending tone. “Does he know what you do?”
“Just what do I do?”
She looked at him chidingly. “You might be part of Knox’s clan, but that’s where your similarity ends. Knox is loyal to
his family. To his people. To his wife. Your only loyalty is to the highest bidder for whatever you’re peddling nowadays.”
He hummed and smoothed his hand down her hair, his eyes challenging her to retaliate. She wanted to, but she was wise enough to know the power he held over her. The power to expose her for the weak coward she truly was. “What you say is the absolute truth, Wraith. And I’ve always been very loyal to you, haven’t I?” Dropping his hand to the small of her back and pulling her close enough that she could feel his arousal against her stomach, he said, “I got you away from Ramsey, didn’t I? Showed you how pleasure was so much better than pain. But I understand . . . You’ve been without for a long time. Now that I’m back, there’s no need for that to continue.” He bent over her so that his lips hovered over her earlobe. He raked his fangs against her. “Come on, baby. I’ve got what you need. As soon as you taste it again, you’ll remember why it’s so good. Why we were so good together and can be again.”
Closing her eyes, Wraith swallowed hard. His voice was cajoling, his tone a dark, sinful urge. She felt herself lean against him as memories washed over her. Their shared past was one filled with darkness and pain, just as every part of her life was, but it was also the only time in the past ten years that she’d ever experienced pure physical pleasure. The drugs Colt had access to were the only things that had allowed her to feel pure pleasure at being touched. But they had also left her stoned. Disoriented. In an altered state for days.
That was what a wraith’s options were for avoiding pain. Complete isolation or complete addiction.
Colt was right. He had saved her to some degree. He’d helped her see that what she’d had with Ramsey Monroe wasn’t real and wasn’t all there was to life. But what he’d introduced her to had been just as limiting. Just as destructive. Still, despite her addiction to Colt and the drugs, she’d finally managed to extract herself from their grip. It had taken time, and then Mahone had found her. Given her the opportunity to once again do something different. This time, something good.
She wanted to keep doing good with the little time she had left. She also wanted to get the information she needed to leave this life with some semblance of peace.
She wanted those things more than she needed to ease her pain. More than she needed sex. More than she needed to be touched.
She eased away from Colt and shot another glance toward Caleb. Only he wasn’t there. Scanning the room, she saw him beside the patio doors. Watching her.
Or at least that’s what she thought at first.
Behind her sunglasses, her eyes rounded in surprise. Caleb was alone now. The feline had disappeared. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Colt and at the hand that, even now, was once again stroking her neck.
Amazing, she thought. She’d been wrong about her inability to feel pleasure without the aid of drugs.
She felt pleasure now.
A pleasure that was sweeping through her because she recognized the look on Caleb’s face.
Pure, murderous rage mixed with possessive jealousy.
All three—his rage, his jealousy, and her pleasure—flared and became more intense the second he began to walk toward her.
“Wraith.” Her name fell harshly from Caleb’s lips as he approached her.
Typically, Wraith ignored him, but as she continued to dance with the big vamp beside her, her smile turned from seductive to cool. Yeah, she’d heard him all right.
As always, he was assaulted by the dual need to kiss her and shake her. Then kiss her some more. She’d been alternately ignoring him and hissing at him from the start. Learning he’d betrayed her had only made her double her efforts. After Korea, he’d thought he’d have the chance to fix things between them, but the moment had never seemed right. She’d seemed to withdraw into herself even more, locking herself in her room for such prolonged periods of time that he and Lucy had wondered what she was doing that she couldn’t do in front of them. They’d taken turns hanging back, but except for the one time he’d heard a crash in her room, she’d been eerily quiet.
The day he’d threatened to break her door down had been a crossroads for him. When he’d said it, he’d meant it. He’d been damn sick of her running away from him when he knew she was as attracted to him as he was to her. But when she’d spit back, absolutely no softening in her voice, he’d wondered what the hell he was doing. What the hell he hoped to gain from breaking down her defenses.
No, he couldn’t deny that he lusted after this female. He’d wanted her from the second she’d straddled his lap and shoved a gun in his face, hissing and cussing a blue streak in order to hide the fear and pain inside her.
But he’d finally forced himself to accept it—his attraction to her was as fruitless as it was inexplicable. She couldn’t be touched without experiencing pain. That was actually the least of her problems. Even so, Caleb had sworn never to be the cause of an innocent’s pain again.
Ever.
That said, he’d be damned if he’d let someone hurt her when he could stop it.
He turned to the vamp. “Get lost. I need to talk to Wraith.”
The vamp, who was taller than him by a good three inches, wasn’t easily intimidated. “Wraith’s just fine. Real fine. I’m not going anywhere.” Once more, his hand moved to caress Wraith’s neck.
Quick as a snake, Caleb grabbed the vamp’s wrist and shoved him back. The vamp growled and his eyes flashed red.
Conversation in the ballroom stilled. Dancers paused. The air in the room grew tense. The vamp tsked. “You’re going to regret that . . .”
Casually, Wraith glanced at him. “You heard him, Colt. Leave us. Please.”
Shock made Caleb’s head jerk back. He’d never heard Wraith say “please” before. He’d also never heard her speak to someone in such a familiar, intimate tone. Rage spiraled through him. When he saw Colt clench his fists and unsheathe his fangs, Caleb stepped in front of Wraith, more than willing to give the vamp what he was asking for.
The vamp’s eyes followed Caleb’s movement. He lifted a brow and smirked. Instantly, his eyes faded to their normal color, pitch black with silver pupils. “We’ll talk later, Wraith,” the vamp crooned. He swept his hand toward her. “Good luck, my friend.” With a mocking smile, he left.
Wraith didn’t even bother watching his exit. Hands on hips, she scowled at Caleb. “What the hell are you doing, O’Flare?”
He got in her face, the tips of his shoes nearly touching hers. “You always let vamps caress your throat despite the fact you don’t have any blood to give?”
She stood her ground and arched a brow. “It wasn’t blood he was after.”
Taking a deep breath, he stepped back. Slowly, the conversation and music started again.
Caleb ran a hand through his hair. “He had his hands on you,” he bit out. “He was hurting you.”
She looked stunned, then snorted and rolled her eyes. “I hurt all the time. Some types of ‘hurt’ are better than others,” she drawled, “and there are plenty of males willing to make me hurt good.”
Her words gave him pause. He’d heard the stories about wraiths and their attraction to BDSM. He supposed it was a testament to the strength of a creature’s sex drive—how they wanted sex, even if pain came with it. But in the case of wraiths, there was no kink involved—they simply had no other choice.
He remembered touching her throat just before they’d left for North Korea, examining the old scars from the paralyzing collar she’d been forced to wear so some freak could experiment on her. He’d been careful. Gentle. But even that fluttering touch had caused her pain. No matter how she tried to dismiss it now, he’d seen her tremble and flinch away from the vamp’s touch, too.
She obviously took his silence for disbelief. “What, you don’t think men have touched me before? Fucked me? Because plenty have. What do you care anyway? I saw your little princess leave, and she looked ready for some action. You better get to her.”
He’d been dismissed.
And what more could he say? He turned to leave.
“Unless . . .”
He sucked in a breath and froze. Unless what?
“Unless you want to see for yourself that I don’t mind a little pain.”
FIVE
Wraith saw Caleb’s back muscles tense and closed her eyes.
What. Had. She. Just. Said?
One minute she’d been watching the golden boy walk away, imagining him doing the nasty with that vixen of a cat instead of just dancing with her; then, in quick unison, she’d experienced denial. Lust.
Entitlement.
Not this time, she’d thought. This time, she wasn’t going to resign herself to having him walk away. Not when she might not have another chance to be with him.
Over the sounds of music and revelry, she heard him breathe a curse.
Her eyes flared open. Swallowing hard, she waited for him to laugh and walk away.
He didn’t. Slowly, he turned to face her, keeping several feet between them.
“You’re joking? Right?”
The way he said it, he clearly believed she was playing him. Her brain screamed for her to backtrack. To laugh it off. “Yep. Gotcha,” she’d say, then let him walk away to go fuck the feline he’d been dancing with.
But even though she opened her mouth to say just that, nothing came out.
He narrowed his eyes and took several steps closer. “Wraith?” His confusion was apparent, as was the fact he was going to reject her. “Sex hurts you. I don’t see how it couldn’t. I can’t . . .”
She’d been waiting for his refusal, but now that it was on the tip of his tongue, she couldn’t bear to hear it. One night. Was that too much to ask? A bit of forgetfulness. A hint of pleasure to go along with the pain she always carried around with her. After what she’d done, what she’d helped achieve, didn’t she deserve that? She’d blown herself up, for God’s sake.
“We don’t have to have sex,” she said, wanting to be with him in whatever manner she could. She needed it. Craved it. He was sexy no matter what he wore, but tonight, in his formal tux, he looked like every woman’s fantasy—tightly leashed sexuality thinly disguised as charm and elegance. She’d sensed his true primal nature from the very beginning, and it had made her core ache with the need to be filled.
