“Now there’s a thought.” She ran her fingers over his chest and laid her palm flat over his galloping heart. He smiled, stroking her hair. And she returned to her last pre-sex thought. “So who are they if they’re not your friends? Andrea and Lara?”
His hand stilled. “I met them at Mihaela’s party. Turns out I went to school with Lara. We weren’t friends then, and she certainly doesn’t like me now. Andrea does, though.” He frowned. “That was the odd thing: they said my friend told them about this place. I never got around to asking them who that friend was, or what they were told, but I can’t imagine Mihaela sending them here for any reason.”
Angyalka raised herself on her elbow, then propped her chin on his chest. “Firstly, Lara does like you. She doesn’t want to, but the attraction is certainly there. I could smell it. Secondly, in my brief glimpse into her mind, Andrea had rather wild suspicions about me sucking people’s blood—along with a sizeable dose of hatred and an instinct to exterminate. But when I unraveled the compulsion, she was completely ashamed of such ‘fantasy.’ She considers herself an intelligent and civilized woman. So whatever your friend told them, it wasn’t the truth.”
István frowned. “So they had two totally separate reasons for coming here?” He lifted one hand from her hip to shove his hair back off his face. “That’s so unlikely as to be bizarre.”
“There are too many bizarre happenings right now for my liking. Something is going on. Your colleague put a vampire up to bombing the Angel. Humans are attacking vampires because of an enchanted picture in my shop. Foreign vampires are here. Digging for information for unknown purposes.”
“Foreign vampires? Like my American burglar? He said he was working with others.”
Angyalka paused in the act of kissing his nipple and raised her head. “If he’s who I think he is, then yes, at least one of his companions is American. What did he look like?”
“Young, medium height. Dark hair. Ordinary. Spoke English with a definite American accent.”
“Yes, sounds like the one who’s been snooping around here.”
“Getting involved with local malcontents, or stirring it up?”
“I don’t really know. It’s the other one, the older one, who scares me. Wait…” Igor, she called telepathically.
There was a pause, then came a very surprised, Angyalka?
Igor was one of the most open, best-natured vampires she knew. She could make that work for her rather than against her.
Sorry. Help me out here, Igor, she suggested, appealing to his pride in his local knowledge. Who are your new American friends you were with here the last couple of nights?
Jacob and Gabby, Igor replied with alacrity. They hang around with Gabby’s creator, Basilio—strong vampire based in Mexico.
What brings them here?
A mental shrug reached her. Curiosity, I suppose. They’re very curious.
Yes, they are, she agreed. Just curious? Or unhappy?
Seem pretty happy to me.
She passed this on to István, watched him commit the names to memory. The hunter network would be buzzing tomorrow in search of information on these characters. It might even help.
She felt her lips stretch into an involuntary smile. “I believe we’re working together, hunter.”
István smiled back, and his gaze seemed to melt her bones. “I believe we’re doing quite a lot of things together just recently.” His arms tightened, and he shifted, pushing her under him so that he could look down into her face. “I like all of them.”
She touched his throat, where her puncture wounds had almost vanished, then kissed it, sweeping her tongue over the injured skin to complete the healing. He shivered. Against her leg, he began to harden once more.
She whispered, “I never thought you would say that to me and mean it.”
“I never thought you would care.”
“What are we admitting to here, István?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Not yet,” she said and kissed him.
When it ended, he murmured her name and sank back into her mouth for another. Enchanting as this was, she had more to say, so after a few moments, she pulled back reluctantly.
“Before you get all hot and sweaty again, there’s something else. Igor—the vampire who almost died in the bombing—told the foreigners about Elizabeth’s pregnancy. I think all the vampires she healed that night must have felt it. Word is out now.”
He blinked, as if forcing his sex-befuddled mind to focus. Angyalka liked that idea, though she wasn’t so keen when he suddenly sat up, pushing his hair out of his face with one hand while he reached for his jeans with the other.
“I have to warn Elizabeth,” he muttered, dragging his phone out of the pocket.
“István, she knows. I told Saloman earlier this evening. He’s probably curtailing this leg of his world-domination tour as we speak.”
István stared at his phone, unmoving, and Angyalka suddenly remembered the first time she’d seen him, charging to the rescue of Elizabeth, the bait in the trap the hunters had so foolishly set for Saloman. For one unguarded instant, his face had been anguished.
“What is the Awakener to you?” she asked and immediately wished the words unsaid. She wasn’t used to jealousy and didn’t like the way it made her feel and react.
“She’s my friend,” István said. “I owe her my life and my body’s recovery.”
She wanted to leave it there, shrug, and move on. It was nothing to her, and Elizabeth was Saloman’s. But she couldn’t look away from István’s stern face. Without warning, his frown smoothed and his expression softened. A rueful smile tugged at his lips as he dropped the phone back into his jeans pocket.
“If you want the truth,” he said, “I once wanted her to be more than that. I thought I was in love with her.”
Love. Human love. Elizabeth and István would have been so much more right for each other… It shouldn’t hurt like this.
She found her fist clamped hard between her breasts, as if trying to stop the pain. With an effort of will, she eased the pressure. “Still?” she managed.
He shook his head. “She never looked at me. It was always Saloman. A crush needs nourishment to grow into something more. But I love her now as a friend. Much as I love Mihaela.”
She tried to smile. “You’re very honest for a human.” She wasn’t quite sure why his words depressed her.
“I hope so.” He rose to his feet, splendidly naked, and, sore at it was, her heart began to pump harder. “Could I get myself a glass of water?”
“Of course. The kitchen’s to the right.” More of a utility room than a kitchen, since she never cooked, but at least it had a sink and a tap and a cupboard with some glasses.
As he left the room, she reached for her dress, then knelt to put it on.
Chapter Fourteen
István reappeared in the doorway, taking a long draft from a large glass of water, and she paused once more to admire his long, lean body with its narrow hips and broad, muscular shoulders.
He lowered the glass, no doubt taking in her avid gaze, along with her own nakedness behind the shield of the dress still clutched in her hands.
“That reminds me. There was something else I wanted to ask you.” He walked toward her, muscles rippling down his body, his hips swinging subtly, like a panther’s.
Lust pooled between her thighs. “What?” she asked, her throat suddenly too dry. She needed his blood to quench her thirst.
“Will you come out with me tomorrow night?”
She blinked. Her hands holding the dress dropped into her lap, and she heard his breath catch in appreciation.
“Out with you?” She must have misheard him on so many levels that she tried to keep it light. “I don’t do ‘out,’ remember?”
His lips quirked. “On the contrary. I remember you doing ‘out’ extremely well, only a couple of hours ago.”
Blood rushed into her face and neck—at least the
portion of it that wasn’t feeding her desire.
“Where?” she managed, completely baffled.
He shrugged, taking another long drink, then walking across the room to set his glass down on the corner table. She followed him with suspicious yet lustful eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere that isn’t the Angel. The end of the street, maybe. Anywhere, with me. Please.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She tried again. “Why?” A solution presented itself, neither welcome nor completely understood. “Are you trying to cure my agoraphobia?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Why?” she asked again.
“I told you. I want you to live.”
When he’d said something similar before, she’d laughed because she’d been dead for two hundred years. She stared at her hands, still crushing the black dress in her lap.
He said, “How did you get like this? Did something bad happen to you a hundred and two years ago?”
She shook her head. “I don’t even have that excuse. My life just got too wrapped up in this place. I left it less and less. I found excuses not to leave, to get others to bring me what I needed. And then one day I discovered I couldn’t bring myself to go out. And I found ways round that too.”
Memory flashed: a sick, frightened, grief-maddened girl alone in the terror of the night, without a roof over her head, at the mercy of everyone real and imagined; dark shadows looming in filthy streets, leering, pitiless faces and grasping hands…
Her stomach lurched, and she felt again the echo of that long-past fear and sickness, clawing at her. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the dress tighter.
“It’s stupid,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I let past fears overwhelm me when I knew I was invincible. As if I’d turn back into the pathetic girl I’d been if I went out there. I was afraid of remembering.”
He didn’t speak or touch her or even move any closer. She was glad of that, because she couldn’t have borne pity from him. She opened her eyes, stared at her white fingers, and slowly forced their grip to loosen. “It never made any sense. Because, ironically, I’d become the monster of the night.”
His gaze seemed to burn her, but she refused to look at him. He said, “Actually, I found you an entirely charming companion of the night.”
“That’s the sex talking.”
“And the rest. Which is why I invite you to step out with me tomorrow night.”
Something that might have been laughter or straightforward derision caught in her throat. “What, will you call for me at sundown?”
“Yes.” He spoke unexpectedly close to her ear, making her jump as he knelt behind her. His arms folded around her, drawing her back against his chest. “Will you come?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. The pain of the past, living and dead, dissipated under his touch, his nearness. He could so easily become another crutch.
A crutch that would, inevitably, die. One way or another.
“Will you think about it?” he asked softly.
She twisted her head to look into his face. Behind the blazing desire, his expression was serious, keeping his lust in check. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”
And his lips smiled as they came down on hers. She opened for him, welcoming his tongue with her own. Both his hands slid over her stomach and caressed upward until they held her breasts. He kneaded them, gently, stroking and pulling at her nipples, over and over until she moaned and pushed back into him.
His bone-hard shaft stroked between her buttocks as he rubbed against her. One of her hands closed over his on her breast. With the other, she reached up behind her and caught her fingers in his hair, trying to draw him even closer. She shifted position, and he entered her from behind.
“God, that feels good,” she whispered against his lips.
“Tell me about it,” he groaned, moving inside her to find and stroke her favorite place. As they ground together, thrusting, pulling, straining, his right hand left her breast at last and swept down her chest and stomach to hold her between the legs. She cried out, pushing involuntarily into him. Held as she was between his body and his hand, lust galloped out of control. He played her with his fingers, caressing her clitoris, as he thrust in and out of her, keeping the pace slow and the pleasure so sweet as to be almost unendurable because she needed release.
“Faster,” she whispered. “Harder now. Come with me…”
“No, I like it like this. So do you. I can feel it. I’m awash in it.” He pinched her clitoris and orgasm threatened. She moaned in eager anticipation, but his hand and his body stilled for just an instant before they began their slow rhythm again.
She could have changed things. She had the strength to set any pace she chose. But István was right. Despite her desperation for release, she really did love exactly what he was doing. Part of her wanted that to go on forever, while the impatient part of her demanded and reached for climax. But she didn’t push too hard. She let him hold her between his controlling hand and body, and absorbed the building rapture like blood, moaning with increasing volume until it finally broke over her, like a massive wave that drowned her even as she rode it. Fierce and hard, orgasm shook her to her core.
István’s breathing came quick and shallow, his eyes wide open and staring into hers. He still moved gently, rhythmically within her body. She smiled at him, reached for his lips as she convulsed, and then finally rammed herself hard against him, writhing and thrusting hard and fast, and he let go of his restraint. Both his hands grasped her hips as he slammed into her and new orgasm cascaded from the old, dragging him with her, and they shouted out together a long, ecstatic cry that was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.
He devoured her mouth, his hands returning to her breasts, as they came very slowly back down to earth.
“Ding, ding, Angyalka,” said Béla’s voice from the bedroom. “Dinner is served.”
“Oh fuck,” Angyalka whispered, laughter and annoyance trembling on her lips as well as in her voice. Stay there, she ordered Béla telepathically.
She kissed István once more, with vehemence. “Your blood is safe from me, it seems. Béla’s brought me an inferior vintage.” She slid off him and finally threw the black dress over her head. She didn’t trouble to fasten it and was aware of István’s dark, suddenly unreadable eyes following her across the room and into the bedroom. Before she closed the door, he may have caught a glimpse of Béla beside the window, and the handsome young man who stood dazed in front of him. Well, he looked dazed. In fact, Béla had mesmerized him, and when she was done, Angyalka would clear his memory. If he remembered anything, it would be like a dream.
“Still hungry?” Béla drawled. If he hadn’t sensed the hunter, he’d almost certainly seen him.
“A little,” Angyalka said, reaching both hands up to the stranger’s throat. His blood didn’t smell like István’s, but it was warm, and all that sex had made her hungry. She drew back her lips and fastened her teeth to the man’s neck.
He let out a groan, shifting his head to give her easier access. His arms moved, as if to hold her from some instinct, but she grasped them firmly to his sides and drank his blood.
May I? Béla asked telepathically.
It had been a while since they’d shared a meal. Normally, she liked the companionship of sharing, despite the danger of killing their victim by taking too much. Tonight, for some reason, she didn’t want the intimacy. Perhaps because of the greater closeness she’d just experienced with the hunter on the other side of the door.
However, unwilling to hurt so good a friend and ally, she signaled her approval, and Béla, from behind, applied himself to the other side of the man’s throat.
She heard the bedroom door open and knew István was watching.
****
István was tying the laces on his sneakers when she finally emerged from the bedroom. He raised his eyes slowly, almost afraid he’d see the other man’s blood on her lips and t
eeth. Shit, was he really jealous of that? This relationship was so fucked-up he should never have started it.
Her face was clean. He couldn’t see her fangs.
“Is he dead?” he asked harshly. Why the fuck did I not intervene to save him? Have I really become so corrupted by lust? Is Konrad right after all?
“Of course not.” In spite of everything, her voice vibrated straight to his well-satisfied groin. “It may interest you to know that I can count the number of humans I’ve ever killed on one hand. Two of them were mistakes when I was very young. And one was Bruno Geller. Béla will return the man you saw to his home. If he remembers anything, it will be like a dream.”
“An erotic dream?” István said, curling his lip. He didn’t like his anger, couldn’t even work out where it was directed, but it seemed he couldn’t squash it.
“Oh, I hope so. Why deny the man a little fun after his gift to us?”
“Do you share all your—meals—with Béla?”
“No, and why should you care?”
He’d made her defensive, almost hostile, which had never been part of his plan. The trouble was, he’d lost track of the plan. He didn’t even know if he wanted to go on with it.
“It reminds me,” he blurted, “of the incident which led me to vampire hunting in the first place. Sharing a human being like a side of meat.”
She raised one haughty eyebrow. “Would it make you happier if he was my lover?”
He dropped his gaze, hiding the upsurge of emotion he didn’t even understand. He didn’t want her biting that man because it was wrong. It had always been wrong. He didn’t want Béla there. He didn’t want the victim there. Because of the intimacy of both men with her.
“No,” he said quietly. He finished tying the second lace and stood up.
She came toward him. “I’m a vampire, István. This can’t be news to you.”
Hardly. But there was a difference between knowing and seeing, between feeling her drink so sensually from him and watching her bite another man, a helpless, enthralled man he should have helped.
Blood of Angels (Book 2 of the Blood Hunters Series) Page 20
