by Kira Nyte
“I dare say he’s more protective than I am. And that’s admitting something.”
“You and Kalen have many similarities. And yes, he’s very protective. We’ve been through much together.”
Was that sadness in her voice?
Draven clearly recalled Kalen telling him she had been hurt, along with their mention of a lab and a Dr. Hamstead. He’d learn about her past. He’d earn her trust. The drive to have her accept him and be his was unreasonable, but it overwhelmed him. He wanted Vivian.
No. It was stronger than that. Not an obsession, but a…a…
Need.
Somehow, she fed his soul the same way blood fed his body. Until he bumped into her at Howler’s, he hadn’t realized he was missing this other necessity to life. Now, he couldn’t do without it.
“I should compliment you on your perseverance. You aren’t one to give up easily, are you?” Vivian said, her voice lifting and casting away the heavy air that seemed to hover between them.
“Never was a quitter.” He chuckled. “And if you’re referring to my going to your brother to ask for help finding you, yeah. I was determined to bring you out on a proper date. You know, they say third time’s a charm.”
“I’m beginning to think anything that involves you is a charm.”
He touched a hand to his chest in exaggerated pleasure. “Why, thank you.”
She nudged him with her elbow and laughed.
Draven caught her hand, weaving their fingers together. The tingles and sparks that rode through his arm and settled in his gut made his vision fade momentarily. His mouth went dry. He eased off the accelerator until he could see the road again. An uncharacteristic ache started in his gums that followed the descent of his fangs.
A new hunger seized him. Not one to satiate the thirst, but one to satiate this new and unnamed need.
He cleared his throat, willing his fangs back.
“Why didn’t you want to tell me where you lived?” Draven asked in a poor attempt to distract himself from his merciless hunger.
Vivian shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
“Because of Jackson?”
She tossed him a warm glance. “Jackson is a dear friend. His uncle helped Kalen and I through a very difficult time before he died. And Jackson has continued to help us. He’s the least of your worries, romantically, if that’s what you’re referring to.”
Sharp woman.
“I’m not worried, per se. I mean, I saw the way he looked at you. But who wouldn’t have stopped breathing the moment you walked into the room?” He gave her a quick glance from head to toe. “You’re a breathtaking sight. Both in looks and presence.” He winked, pleased by the blush his words brought to her cheeks. “I think I might become addicted.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Lourdes, charmer extraordinaire.”
He balked only an instant before letting out a roar of laughter. Vivian’s eloquent laughter mixed with his, creating a symphony that sang to that hungry place in his soul. That same place that wanted to kiss her mad, and maybe a little more. A lot more.
You’re a danger to my self-control.
Her hand squeezed his. “How am I a danger?”
Draven blinked. His foot eased off the accelerator and he looked at her. “Can you read minds?”
“You spoke aloud.” Her delicate brow furrowed. “I wasn’t supposed to hear that, huh?”
Well, damn.
“There go a few cards in my hand.” He swore his own cheeks warmed. Yet, the sparkle in Vivian’s eyes was more innocent and demure than that of a woman who knew the value of the information he unwittingly shared.
That innocence again.
So much conflict in this woman. So much he wanted to know and learn. So many questions stirred from their brief, and rather intense, encounters.
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine with your loss. Somehow, I sense you have an overabundance of said cards at your disposal.”
Draven glanced at her, sharing a smile at her playfulness. “I think I may just toss them all to the wind where you’re concerned.”
Vivian perched their elbows on the console between them. She gazed peacefully at their laced fingers.
“Good. I was never good at cards anyhow,” she murmured. “Or games.”
He tucked that small piece of information in his ever-growing mental file on this gorgeous woman. He leaned over and kissed the tips of a few of her fingers. “No games, Vivian. I promise.”
And with that heartfelt vow, he closed the door on his single days in hopes of opening a new door into a life with Vivian Hawkins.
Chapter Ten
A dream.
Everything felt like a dream.
Café Claude was romance brought to life. The table Draven procured was intimate, tucked beneath a dimly lit chandelier. The tablecloth was smooth white, set with fine crystal and fancy dishware. A candle sat in the center, adding to the elegant ambiance and the intimate air.
However, nothing compared to the handsome man sitting across from her, swirling red wine in his glass.
Vivian had barely been able to maintain some semblance of calm when she saw Draven in Jackson’s kitchen. He dressed up well. Maybe too well. He’d neatened his hair away from his face, but stubborn strands had retaken their rightful place over his blue eyes. His black pants fit him to perfection, making her suspect they were tailored to fit his long, lithe legs and rather enticing rear. His shirt was black, as well, a silk button-down open at the neck. The contrast to his pale skin was sharp and exotic, and turned quite a few female heads. He had worn his leather jacket, but quickly relinquished the supple material to drape over her shoulders for the short walk from the car to the restaurant.
The subtle spicy scent that lingered around him now clung to her dress.
The scent encompassing her taunted her, making her secretly wish she sat beside Draven. Perhaps lean up against him.
Instead, she sipped the wine he had chosen from the list, delighted by the flavor. Although it had little effect on her, thanks to her genetics, it did help take the edge off her nerves.
Or maybe seeing that Draven was nervous too helped.
A server placed their appetizer on the table. Vivian leaned a little closer to the dish, trying to figure out what she was looking at. Some pre-dinner research might have come in handy. The server dished out a portion to her first, then to Draven before taking his leave.
“What did you say this was again?” Vivian asked. She hadn’t been paying attention when he ordered, too enraptured by his relaxed demeanor and the breathtaking curl of his lips. She picked up her fork and nudged one of the scallops.
“Coquilles St. Jacques,” he said, his gaze intent on her. The corner of his mouth remained vaguely curled, apparently amused by her prodding.
“You’re not allowed to speak French anymore.” The way those words rolled from his mouth elicited a lick of hot lava up her spine. His chuckle magnified that burn.
“That may be difficult, considering we’re dining in a French restaurant. C’est ca, mademoiselle?”
Vivian suppressed the shiver of pleasure caused by that low, husky rumble and the thick accent and cut into one of the scallops. “Aren’t you funny?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m putting a smile on your face, so I must be halfway to funny.”
She stopped before popping the piece of delicious-smelling food into her mouth to look at him. His eyes sparkled as he cut a piece of his own appetizer, never once looking down at his plate. His confidence, despite his underlying nervousness, won her over more than once. He wasn’t cocky, like some of the men she’d encountered on the nights Fawn had taken her out. His was a characteristic she appreciated.
Draven chuckled softly and reached across the small table. His fingers folded over hers, lifting her fork with the dripping mushroom to her lips. She allowed him to guide it into her mouth, catching the sharp flare of his nostrils when she slipped the scallop from the prongs. His pupils widened, casting t
he blues in a sensual shadow.
His grin turned carnal.
She chewed slowly as he pulled his arm back and settled back in his chair. He watched her with hyper-focused interest. She couldn’t explain what came over her, but she indulged in his unspoken desire, taking her time and thoroughly enjoying the sweetness of the scallop. She was no culinary expert, but she doubted the bite would have tasted so good if not for the attention it garnered from the man across the table. He heightened her senses to peak far beyond what she’d experienced before.
“Are you punishing me for teasing you?” he asked, his voice gravelly to the point she could almost feel it scraping pleasantly down her back. She caught the hint of fangs beneath his upper lip when he spoke, not that she understood why she would be punishing him. They drew her attention as she swallowed her small bite. Her thoughts drifted into uncharted waters as she wondered how it would feel to have those teeth bite…
“No.”
Gods, she sounded like a strangled animal.
She washed down food that had decided it was the perfect time to stop moving down her throat with a sip of wine.
After a delicate attempt to clear her throat, she rested the fork on the side of the plate and tented her hands. She rested her chin lightly on her fingertips. “Why would I punish you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you enjoy it?”
“The punishment or the food?”
Oh, how wicked his grin turned. And the things it woke inside of her.
“I’m finding myself unprepared for you this evening,” he confessed, although from the tinge of husk in his voice, she doubted it was a confession at all. After a long, drawn-out silence where he watched her to the point his gaze seduced her mind and caressed her face, he took a hefty gulp of wine and straightened in his chair. A faint rose touched his cheeks. Was it a true blush? Or just the shadows from the dim lighting?
He lifted the bottle of wine and tipped it toward her near-empty glass. “Care for more?”
“Thank you.” She wiped a single drop from the lip of the glass after he finished pouring. “Tell me about your sister. I heard the affection in your voice last night when you mentioned her.”
“Sophia. Ahh, my lovely Sophia.” Draven chuckled, the electric zing in the air fading enough to allow her to breathe easier. “She’s had a rough life. Most of…our kind don’t know what it’s like to live in the sunlight, so we don’t miss it. Can’t miss what you don’t know, right?”
“I’m sorry for you. Daylight is beautiful.”
Draven gave a small nod. “So I’ve gathered from pictures and magazines and such, but the night is beautiful in an entirely different way. My sister developed an allergy or severe sensitivity to artificial light in addition to sunlight. Her life is dark, by all meanings of the word. Firelight, and minimal moon light, are the only means of illumination that don’t bring her harm.”
Vivian’s fingers pressed to her lips. Draven spoke with so much emotion it connected with her own, igniting a sadness she had sensed in her brother.
Helplessness.
“Your father’s family is pretty set in their ways. Like really, really old ways.” He snorted softly. “Have you ever seen the old black-and-white Dracula movies?”
“I’ve seen one.”
“Well, that’s your family. Pristine coffins, frills and lace, dresses and frocks. They’re pretty stuck in the nineteenth century. At least they have plumbing and electricity, though most of the time, it’s not used.”
Vivian scrunched her nose. “Why? The vampires I’ve met here are very modern.”
“Trust me, I’ve tried to wrap my head around it for decades.”
“Was my father like that? He didn’t appear stuffy in the picture you showed us.”
Draven cut off another piece of his appetizer, ate it, washed it down, and dabbed the linen napkin at the corner of his mouth. “Your father was trying to start a movement toward more modern living arrangements. That’s why I liked him so much. He had connections with specialists and tried to find a cure for Sophia before he was taken.” He shook his head, his gaze lowering with a flash of coolness. “I still can’t understand how he was taken.”
“Drugs can do much damage, even to the strongest of us.” She regretted her words the moment his attention shot up to her. She shrugged and looked away. “I assume.”
Oh, she’d spoken too much. His piqued expression told her so.
“Did the people who took Sal take you and your brother? Is that the lab you mentioned last night?”
Memories, fierce and horrific, stabbed at her mind. She wasn’t going to allow this night, her first real date with a man that calmed and coaxed her like a longtime friend, go the way of the gutter.
“Were the specialists able to find a cure for your sister? Or does she still suffer her ailments?”
Draven gauged her expression for a long moment. Vivian used the silence to indulge in another bite of the mouthwatering mushroom and scallop dish.
“Jackson is a microbiologist, you know. He might be able to lend a hand,” she continued, ignoring the curiosity probing her from across the table. “I’m sure I can speak with him to see if he’d be able to lend insight.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose on your friend.”
“He’s practically family.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, then. Thank you.”
She smiled. “I hope I have the opportunity to meet your sister. Your fondness for her assures me she’s a special woman.”
Admiration lit his eyes, dimming his curiosity. “She’s beautiful. There are some aspects of you that remind me of her. Very soft-spoken and polite. Playful yet serious. Thoughtful. Immensely thoughtful. There are times I wonder if I’m really the older sibling because the things that come out of her mouth make me question my own intelligence.” He smirked. Vivian raised a brow in sync with the corner of her mouth. “And I’d like to think I rank up there pretty high when it comes to brains.”
“French brains?”
“Oh, now you’ve gone and ruined my confidence.”
They shared a stifled bout of laughter, and further taunts and light conversation about the town and intelligence. Vivian sighed inside with each slip of French Draven skillfully interjected into the conversation, as well as Spanish and old Gaelic. The entrees came and neither one touched the rich-smelling dishes, choosing conversation and wine over moments of silence to eat.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you to be Irish.”
Draven’s brows rose. “Oh? Why not?”
“I don’t know.” Heat rose to her cheeks. “I’m not really versed in different cultures and nationalities.”
“Well, I still think you’re descended from the ancient gods.”
She wagged a finger. “Now, now. You may be closer to your mark than you think.”
“Well.” Draven pushed his dish aside and perched his elbows on the table. “I consider myself to be humbly in the presence of a goddess, whether you are or you’re not. My impression of you won’t change. And, just for the record, my mother is Irish. My father is French. That’s where Lourdes comes from.”
She reached across the table and traced the angular bone of his jaw. “That’s where this elegant structure comes from.”
“You’ve got a dangerous touch, Vivian.” He tapped the tip of a finger against the bowl of his wine glass. “And I’ve had a dangerous amount of wine.”
She tsked. “Wine has no effect on you and you know it.”
“Perhaps not, but I’m going to leave the warning there.”
In the past, she would have recoiled at the word. Nothing good ever came of a warning unheeded.
But Draven’s warning drew on her curiosity and that simmering heat that stoked low in her belly from the instant she saw him in the kitchen at Jackson’s house.
“Tell me about your mother.”
She frowned and her inner heat dissipated. She settled back in her chair, her hands cupping th
e bottom of her wine glass.
“I don’t remember much about her except she was beautiful.”
“You inherited her fine traits.”
“I suppose.”
“Do you remember where she’s from?”
Neither she nor her brother knew much about their Celestial background because there wasn’t much in any book to learn from. Her mother’s breed was as elusive as a ghost might be to a human. Some had the opportunity to see and meet the Celestial fae, while others believed them to be nothing more than tall tales. One thing that became apparent during their hunt for Dr. Hamstead before he was apprehended: The circlet, their mother’s crown, held the source of power for them. If that fell into the wrong hands, the consequences could be devastating.
“Her past was a bit…complex, or so I’ve been told,” Vivian finally answered, diverting her gaze from Draven’s. It wasn’t a lie, but she didn’t want him pressing for more information. Not here, in the middle of a restaurant.
“Well, if she looked anything like you, I can see why Sal fell for her,” Draven said softly.
“I wish I had known him.” When Draven slid his plate in front of him again, she looked up. “What was he like?”
Draven lifted his fork and knife and used the tines of his fork to motion toward her plate. “This looks amazing, and it’s getting cold. I’ll tell you about Sal while you eat.”
Chapter Eleven
Draven busied himself recapturing memories of Sal to share with Vivian while she ate with the daintiness of a princess. He kept the conversation light-hearted, averting his gaze from her mouth or the ample cleavage that deepened when she moved certain ways. There was an undeniable pull, a connection between them that they both acknowledged, but tried to keep at bay. He, out of respect for Vivian. Her, for whatever secrets she continued to withhold.
He decided he loved the sound of her laughter, so light and airy and musical. He loved the way her eyes twinkled when she smiled. Loved the strokes of rose that crossed her delicate cheeks. He thoroughly enjoyed her banter and was completely taken by the serenity of her essence.
