by Virna DePaul
By him.
But even though she was willing, she knew he’d never agree. Caleb was a good man. An honorable man. A warrior, but also a healer. He could never receive pleasure from hurting her, even though there had been plenty of men who could. She could probably find one or two in this very room, in fact. But she didn’t want that tonight.
There was only one man she wanted, here and now. Just once, before she died the way she should have long ago, she wanted something different—something she’d never experienced in her current form. Something she might not have experienced in her human life. She wanted to touch and be touched by someone who cared about what she felt. What she needed.
She wanted to have sex with someone who cared about her. And she didn’t want to be doped up on drugs in order to experience it, either.
No matter how she’d treated him, how she’d pushed him away, she knew Caleb cared for her.
So she took a chance and bargained for what she needed. “I can . . . I can touch you. I can control it. I can pleasure you,” she assured him, knowing that touching him, no matter the pain it caused, would be her pleasure. Her nipples hardened as she imagined it. Stroking his broad shoulders and chest. Trailing trembling fingers down his abs to encircle his shaft. “I . . .”
Again, his confusion was evident. “Why would you want to do that? I thought you hated me. Were pissed at me for acting on Mahone’s behalf. I mean, you saved me and Mahone, but that was the job . . .”
She scowled. Of course he’d have to bring up his betrayal. For days, she and Caleb had worked together—solving puzzles and piecing out his visions in order to track down the location of the vamp antidote—when the whole time, Mahone already had that information. He’d just been testing her, and he’d used Caleb to do so. What she’d thought had been a building trust between them had turned out to be a lie. “I do,” she said. “I am. But . . .” How could she explain that while she still felt betrayed by his actions, she also understood why he’d done it. From what she knew about him, Caleb always did the hard thing, especially when it was for the good of the whole. Mahone had been right—she had been the unknown element in the group. He’d needed to test her, and Caleb had given him the means. It had pissed her off, but it hadn’t made her want him any less, no matter how hard she’d tried. “Jesus, why do you have to analyze everything?”
He said nothing, not even to question her reference to a Christian God, the one she’d studied in L.A. and continued to study, drawn to the accounts of his selflessness and willingness to suffer for the redemption of others. Caleb simply studied her as if he was still trying to figure out something puzzling. His ability to remain cautious and curious when she was being burned alive by desire shamed her.
Hurt and anger made her turn away from him. “Forget it,” she called over her shoulder. “I just thought you might want some R & R, too. If you don’t want it with me, I’ll go find someone who does. And this time, don’t interfere.”
She skirted around the guests on the dance floor and was almost out of the room when his voice stopped her.
“Wait.”
Now it was Wraith who froze. The sound of his voice, deep and gravelly, dark in a way his cockiness and movie star good looks belied, had brought her to a halt. Slowly, she turned back to face him. Several people looked at them. Tipped their heads toward one another, most likely whispering about the handsome human male talking to the pitiful dead creature.
She didn’t care.
He wanted her. She could see it in his face. In his glittering eyes where desire burned like a raging fire. In the nostrils that flared as he stared at her, his features hard. Dangerous.
Something tightened in her chest, and she felt it move to shiver along her spine as if he’d caressed it with his finger. She gasped, a sound of excitement. And fear?
The notion made her straighten her shoulders, raise her chin, and react the way she always reacted—on the offensive. “Don’t think about it too long,” she drawled. “I’m getting bored really fast.”
But he couldn’t not think about it. She saw it all tumbling through his mind. His doubts. His suspicions. His belief that he could just talk to her. Comfort her. And yes, maybe even experiment a little to see what caused her pain and what didn’t.
Her mouth twisted at the dreaded word: “experiment.”
Like she was some freak whose responses were to be judged. Analyzed. But how could she blame him? Even the idea of making out with a female without a pulse must cause him concern. She’d never been intimate with a human before. How did he know she wouldn’t hurt him? Infect him, somehow? Why had she even—
He closed the distance between them and thumbed her chin up. That small contact caused a zing to shoot through her body—a jolt of pain, yes, but one tempered by the headiness of his touch.
“You should be more protective of yourself.”
“What do I need to protect myself from?” she murmured, moving her jaw so his thumb caressed it. “I know you won’t hurt me, not intentionally.”
“And how do you know that?”
She put her hand against his chest, relishing the accelerated beat of his heart. For a moment she weakened, wanting to drop her shields and give him a little of the truth. “Give me some credit, O’Flare. I don’t need to be psychic to sense the goodness inside you.”
He peered at her from beneath heavy lids. “Goodness, huh?” He swiped his thumb across her lips, then slipped it into her mouth. When she gasped, he rubbed her tongue, then her lips, wetting them. “You really don’t know me, do you, Wraith?” he whispered.
In response, she nipped his thumb, then laved the hurt with her tongue. His eyes went dark and smoky, making her smile. “I might come off as a total bitch, but I’m a smart one. And I don’t live in denial. I know what is. And what isn’t.” She hesitated, then plowed on, knowing it had to be said. Caleb was too knight-in-shining-armor. He was attracted to her because he wanted to save her, she knew that. Only he couldn’t.
And even if he could, she didn’t want to be saved. She’d walked the earth as the living dead long enough. She was tired. So tired. Maybe tonight she could have more, but eventually . . . soon...
“Tonight isn’t going to be more than a roll in the sack. Know that now, before things go further.”
“Is that right?” he said with a mocking smile.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Listen, O’Flare—”
“You’d best brace yourself, Wraith,” he said softly, a hint of Irish and sex sneaking into his voice.
She did.
Her eyes widened.
Her muscles tensed.
Then he kissed her.
Sort of. Truth was, he hardly touched her because, as always, he didn’t want to hurt her. She wanted to weep at that knowledge.
Such a good man, she thought again.
His lips barely brushed hers, but their breath mingled and their gazes locked.
For long moments, he stood close to her, grazing her mouth with whisper-soft sips and the occasional slick glide of his tongue. Raising her arms, she threaded her fingers through his hair, marveling at the soft, silky texture. He pulled his head back to stare into the dark lenses of her sunglasses, and she wished he could see past them—see past the cloudy haze that covered her eyes. She wished he could see the color of her eyes and watch her pupils dilate with the evidence of her desire, the way a normal human’s pupils would.
But she knew what he’d see if he removed her glasses. Blankness. Eyes foggy and seemingly unaffected, when so much of her was churning with a restless energy she could barely contain.
He pulled away, and she barely stopped herself from grabbing for him. “I need to talk to someone,” he said.
She tried to fight off a pang of jealousy. The cat. “You certain you want to do that?” she whispered, hoping she sounded seductive.
“Yes, but I won’t be long. You changing your mind?”
She shook her head. No, she wasn’t changing her mind. She mig
ht be a fool. She might not know what this evening was going to bring her, but she wanted to find out. She wanted him.
“Don’t move and don’t jerk me around, Wraith. If I find out—”
She shook her head. “I’m not. I won’t. Tonight, I just want . . . I just want to forget . . . to rest . . .”
“So I’m going to be used as a sleeping pill?” he teased, his face lightening with a smile.
“I didn’t say anything about sleeping, O’Flare.”
His smile vanished as he sucked in a breath, eyes flashing hot with desire. Without another word, he turned around.
Holy shit. For a second there, he’d looked like he wanted to eat her alive. Suck her up and swallow her down.
She licked her lips, thinking that’s exactly what she wanted to do to him.
Before she could let her doubts get the better of her, she turned around to scan the crowd. Her brows furrowed when she saw Lucy by the bar, sipping on a drink.
Had Lucy seen her and Caleb kissing? Would she be hurt when she saw them leave together? She knew the little mage had a crush on him, and for an instant, guilt made her pause. But Wraith wasn’t selfless as a general rule, and that counted double when it came to her limited choices in bed partners. She liked Lucy, but not enough to give up a chance like this.
Still . . . What if sex with Caleb was addictive? What if after tonight she wanted more? She couldn’t have more. She knew that. And they still had to work together.
Sensing she was close to bolting, Wraith pushed her concerns out of her head. It was too loud in here. Too . . . happy. She needed to get outside. To be alone so she could think clearly for a moment.
Desperately, she searched the room until she saw the doors leading outside. She strode toward the exit, and toward what she hoped would be clarity. Lord knows, she’d need it.
Convincing Natia that he didn’t want to get back together or have sex with her had taken far longer than Caleb thought it would. Finally, he gave up trying to part on good terms.
He barely shut the door to Natia’s room before the vase she’d been hefting crashed against the other side. The were standing guard next to the door looked at him from the corner of his eye, and although the burly creature’s expression didn’t change, Caleb could sense the amusement radiating from him.
That had gone as badly as he’d thought it would, with Natia accusing him of fucking Wraith just to get back at her and her family. Then she’d started railing about her mother being right, that Caleb must have had something to do with Elijah’s death since he clearly had no respect for the feline race as a whole . . .
Caleb sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t mind a little spirit or outright bitchiness in a female. In fact, he preferred it. The attitude certainly made life more interesting. Even so, Natia’s little temper tantrum should have had him reconsidering Wraith’s offer.
It didn’t. Not at all.
Natia didn’t hold a candle to Wraith in the bitch category. In all their years together, despite all the fights and hysterics, Natia had never pulled a gun on him. Wraith had already done it once, and she’d probably do it a few more times before things were settled between them. He didn’t care. Wraith had finally let down her guard. Admitted she needed something from him, something even more than sexual relief. She needed contact. Caring. Intimacy. And he was the man who was going to give her what she wanted. What she needed.
He started the walk from the guest quarters back to the reception area. On the way, he thought of the vamp Wraith had been dancing with. There had been a familiarity between them that indicated a past physical intimacy, whether it had been actual intercourse or not. Hell, despite Wraith’s implication that she’d been fucked by a squadron of males, he didn’t even know if wraiths could have intercourse. That was one of the things he was going to demand from her tonight—information. He didn’t want just physical or sexual contact from her—he wanted emotional contact, as well. He wanted to know more about her, more than he’d been given in the team’s personnel files. He wanted to know what she was capable of taking and what she wasn’t.
He’d already figured out his healing powers were worthless with her.
Both in Korea and on the dance floor tonight, he’d tried to trance himself when he was kissing her. His healing powers had saved men whose insides had been blasted in four different directions, so why couldn’t they prevent the pain Wraith felt at being touched? Only it hadn’t worked.
It wasn’t completely unheard of. Usually, his powers worked best when the person he was trying to heal was so far gone, their body so damaged that there was no natural mental barrier to block him. Healthy individuals, whether they knew it or not, had the power to protect themselves from the probings of the Otherworld, even when it was done for their own good. That’s why possession by dead spirits was such a rare thing. It was only when people were extremely weak, their natural defenses down, that their minds would let another in.
That was also why wraiths in particular were feared by his people. They were thought to be the walking hosts of evil spirits from the Otherworld.
Caleb didn’t buy it. The instant he’d met Wraith, he’d known there was nothing evil about her. She was lost and damaged, but she had goodness in her, too.
She’d proven that time and again.
The fact that he couldn’t help her—heal her—rubbed him raw.
He wanted to give her more tonight than forgetfulness. Assuming he could even give her that.
SIX
Wraith stepped out into a garden. Despite the fact she saw only bare branches, she knew they were actually blooming with roses, magnolias, and camellias. She’d heard other guests commenting on their beauty, and if she concentrated, she could almost smell their distinct sweetness in the air. She stumbled slightly when she felt a warm breeze against her skin, one that actually invaded her body and stayed awhile. The warmth was gone in just a few seconds but to a being who was perpetually cold, the sensation had been a small slice of heaven. Fleeting, yes, but still something that might comfort her in the end.
Shaking her head, she stepped farther into the garden. Lucky vamps. Even though it was an early evening smack-dab in the middle of spring, the Dome would maintain this same pleasant weather—neither too hot nor too cold, whether day or night—when the rest of the state sweltered in the summer or froze in the winter. No wonder she wasn’t alone. There were several individuals wandering the manicured paths, so she immediately headed around the side of the house to what looked like a delivery dock and service area. A door to what she assumed was the kitchen was closed. To her right, a dense grove of trees shaded a grass-covered knoll, the perfect spot for picnicking or playing, but also for watching the comings and goings of Knox’s staff in order to gain entry into his home.
She’d have to talk to the vamp about—
Wraith’s senses went on alert when she spotted movement in the trees. Although her muscles tightened, she immediately loosened them and kept walking so as to appear unconcerned. It could just be an adventurous guest who, like her, was simply looking for a little escape from the merriment inside.
That’s what she’d told herself earlier, too.
Upon first arriving, she’d also felt like she was being watched. Tracked. Then, when she’d encountered Colt inside the grand house, the feeling had gone away, and she’d assumed it had been him looking for her. She no longer believed that. Wraith didn’t have this kind of feeling more than once without reason.
Just to confirm it was actually her and not the house her observer was interested in, however, Wraith turned and headed back toward the gardens. She grabbed a glass of champagne from a wandering waiter. Taking her time, she strolled the gardens and pretended to indulge in the champagne. She even smiled as she passed a few of the guests, couples clearly immersed in each other rather than their surroundings. She stifled her instinctive disdain for their carelessness, then thought of Caleb. Had he returned? Was he looking for her?
She
wanted to go to him, but she couldn’t let this feeling of being watched go unexplored. It was more intense now. She felt someone’s gaze pressing on her body. Idly, she glanced around and noticed a big, well-dressed male just behind her and to her right. He averted his gaze.
Bingo.
Putting her glass down on a stone pedestal, she made her way back toward the service area, moving behind a high retaining wall that led to an alley with a refuse area.
A few seconds later, the male stepped into view. Wraith grabbed his arm, yanked him around, and shoved him face-first into the wall. With her other hand, she shoved her pistol into his side. Hard. Although she expected him to grab at her with his other arm, he didn’t. Instead, his body remained slack and he rested the palm of his free hand flat against the wall. He didn’t gasp, didn’t groan. He barely even seemed to breathe.
“Who are you?” she snapped.
“A friend,” was his only response.
Wraith laughed. “I don’t have friends. No family. No one. You wanna try again?”
“You have friends, Wraith. You’ve just forgotten them.”
His softly spoken words and his use of her name—somehow she knew it was being used properly and not generically—gave her pause. What did he mean? Could he be referring to her past? Did this man know something about who she’d been?
For a second, she felt her guard lower, then caught herself. She shook herself mentally. Staring at his profile, she told herself to be smart. Ruthless.
Vigilant.
He had an arresting face, all sharp angles and jutting strength, and a subtle British accent that matched the simple but expensive lines of his clothes. Everything about him—from the way he moved and talked—screamed thinly disguised danger. He was trained. Deadly.
