The Enclave 2 Undying Embrace

by Jessica Lee

  “There’s someplace I gotta be.” He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his keys as he turned for the door. Air. Now.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  He didn’t look back. “No joke,” he said with his hand on the doorknob. Arran yanked the door wide. He risked a glance over his shoulder. She stood, her eyes wide. “I’ll be in touch.” With the door closed behind him, he leaned on the warm wood for a second, drawing a greedy lungful of air. No honeysuckle. Nothing but the scent of pine and grass rode the air, battling for space with the fumes rolling off the nearby interstate. Thank God.

  …

  Elle watched the door close behind Arran. He’d left.

  Wow. Déjà vu?

  After their first kiss the evening the mansion had been invaded, he’d walked away as if that had been a sinful mistake. Elle closed her eyes, and for a moment, she was there once again in Arran’s arms on the floor in the Enclave’s Headquarters. Every detail of that night flickered past her mind’s eye with crystal clarity. Never in her life had she been kissed the way Arran had taken her mouth. Hard. Dominant. Stealing her breath and her heart in the process. Then Logan’s booming voice had fractured the moment.

  “What the fuck?” Two large hands grabbed Arran’s shoulders. Logan yanked Arran, tumbling Elle onto her rear, and spun him around into the opposite wall.

  Then Logan was in Arran’s face. “You disgust me,” the other vampire had spat. “You save her from a DEAD, so that gives you the right to ram your tongue down her throat and paw all over her?”

  “Wait a minute!” she yelled from behind them.

  “Stay out of this.” Arran’s expression said he deserved everything Logan wanted to rain down on his head.

  What the hell was going on?

  Logan’s hand circled Arran’s throat, knocking the back of his head into the wall. “Don’t ever tell her what to do. You don’t deserve to breathe her exhale.”

  Arran grew still under the pressure of his grip, submitting to the other warrior. So unlike the vampire she knew. Logan eased back, releasing his throat.

  “You’re right,” Arran said.

  “Arran, don’t. Don’t say that,” she pleaded. “You know that’s not true.”

  “No, he’s right,” he continued. “About everything.” Sliding from around Logan, Arran met her gaze. “I’m sorry. I had no right to touch you. Please. Forgive me. It won’t happen again.”

  Her palm found her sternum, and she rubbed the growing ache behind the bone. The memory still hurt as if it had all happened yesterday and not a few years ago. And now, counting his exit from her and the Enclave, for a third time, he’d walked out on her. Dazed, she stood motionless, staring at the door until the hurt and anger inside had festered long enough. “You asshole.” And to think, a few seconds ago she was about to forgive him. Elle wasn’t sure who she was more pissed at, herself or him.

  Whirling around, she went for her keys. Metal clinked against the glass bowl as she wrapped her fingers around them before hurrying to the door. There was one thing she did know for sure. “Arran MacLain, you are not going to do this to me again without a damn good explanation.”

  After slamming the car door shut, she shoved the keys in the ignition. The engine started just as he leaned into the corner on his motorcycle and turned out of sight. She popped the roof, threw it in drive, and punched the accelerator. No way was she going to lose him.

  The loud roar to her right told her he’d turned onto US Highway 1, heading out of town.

  At one a.m., traffic was light on the highway, but he was still about two car lengths ahead of her, hauling ass and weaving from one lane to the next. His black leather jacket fluttered in the stiff wind behind him like a sail. The hand on her speedometer passed eighty-five. She was gaining on him.

  Elle had no idea how long they played cat and mouse on the highway when he suddenly decelerated, taking the road to his left. She hit the brakes, signaled, and swung a hard left. “You’re not getting away that easy.”

  After about half a mile, she had him washed in a spray of bright white, beaming off her headlights. His head swiveled left for a quick glance over his shoulder. Light bounced over the reflective shield of his helmet for a second, then he faced forward. His bike surged.

  “Dammit, Arran. Pull over,” she yelled into the windshield.

  As if he’d heard her tirade, Arran swerved right onto a dirt road. She didn’t let up, following his cloud of dust. His bike skidded sideways, and he came to an abrupt halt, blocking her path.

  “About damn time,” Elle muttered, slamming on her brakes. She shoved opened the car door at the same he dismounted, tossing his helmet onto the dirt road. He met her head-on as she rounded the front of the car.

  “What the hell are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” Even in the shadow of her headlights on the darkened road, his face was flushed with anger, his eyes lit with a fiery glow.

  “You walked out on me!”

  “What?”

  “That’s number three now. I guess that’s shame on me, isn’t it?” She lifted her brows.

  “It’s not like that.” He shook his head.

  “Oh no? Then what is it? Tell me, because I don’t like feeling like a fool.”

  “You’re not a fool.” His eyes narrowed on her.

  “Well, that’s what it feels like every time I decide to let you in and then you turn and walk out on me.”

  “I have my reasons.” He pivoted on his heels and stalked back to his bike.

  “This is exactly what I’m talking about.” She threw her hand up, palm entreating the sky for some kind of explanation as he walked away, bent over, and picked up his helmet. He swung one leg over the seat of his bike, resting the black globe on the fuel tank.

  As if the movement had sucked his last drop of energy, he swung his head slowly in her direction. “Go home, Gabrielle. What almost happened tonight can never be.”

  Arran’s face was devoid of emotion, resolute. How dare he decide for her what could and could not occur in her life! Maybe he was right, but she deserved a better explanation than shut up, go home, and accept it.

  The sound of his engine roaring to life spurred her into action. She dashed in front of the wheel, blocking his exit.

  “Get out of the way.” His voice was stronger, louder over the hum of the engine. “Get in your car and go back to your sister’s place. Where you’re safe.”

  “We’re not finished here.” Not by a long shot.

  “I’ll come by tomorrow night, and we can talk about a plan to find your sister.” Arran lifted his helmet, preparing to slide it into place.

  Before his helmet made it over his head, though, Elle whipped around his bike and straddled the seat in front of him. He jerked back, eyes wide, as his helmet took a nosedive back into the dirt.

  “What are you doing?” His voice sounded deeper, more hoarse. He leaned forward, slowly reaching around her side, as if he wanted to be sure they didn’t touch, and killed the engine.

  “I want an explanation. I deserve an explanation.”

  “You know why.” His palms worked over the tops of his thighs.

  “You’re evading the question. Again.” She tilted her head. “Enlighten me.”

  The tips of his fangs glimmered beneath his lip. She couldn’t help but stare as they flashed in the glare of her car headlights. Callous fingertips lifted her chin to his gaze, one that flashed with an unholy red glow.

  “You tend to forget they exist.” He raised one brow. “You want to ignore them, pretend I’m not a vampire.” He slowly shook his head and dropped his hand.

  “I know who you are, Arran MacLain.” She lifted her hand to his face, despite the devilish glare he wore to frighten her away. The desire to feel the texture of his stubble across her skin was way more powerful. She half expected him to flinch from her touch, but for a moment, as she followed the curve of his jaw with her palm, he leaned into her caress before pulling back. “We live
d in the same house for more than five years.” She lowered her hand. “I’m not some kind of head case.”

  “You don’t know me.” The deep timbre of his voice wrapped his words in an ominous package.

  “How am I supposed to know more about you, when you won’t allow anyone close enough to learn?”

  “I’m a killer, Gabrielle.” He snarled the words at her. “That’s all you need to know. Is that what you want sliding into your bed every night, lass? Touching your body with hands that were soaked in blood minutes before?”

  “Stop it!” She couldn’t stand where he was going with this. Why did he always think the worst of himself? “You kill because you have to…to protect.”

  Arran clutched her face with both hands; his gaze bored into her soul. “I kill the same creatures that I am, the ones who’ve lost control of their bloodlust. What separates the vampires of the Enclave and the ones we put down is a fine line, kitten.” His thumbs stroked her cheeks. “Don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten the night I found you with a DEAD at your throat. The terror in your eyes…” He lowered his eyelids, as if reliving that horrible night. His throat worked once, before he opened them again. She clutched his hands, not wanting to remember that night. He shook his head before continuing. “Do you want that at your neck again? Because if you take this any further, that’s exactly where I’ll be. I’ll want all of you, and I won’t be able to stop.”

  A shiver ripped up her spine, and she dug her teeth into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Part of what he said hit a nerve. She did keep the fact he was a vampire locked away in the back of her mind. To her, he was Arran. That was all she ever saw. If she didn’t think about him as a vampire, she wouldn’t have to deal with it. But the time to wake up and face the fact was here. Now.

  She released her lip and gave his hands a squeeze. “That was seven years ago. And like I told you before, I’ve changed. Grown up.”

  His hands fell to his sides, and he leaned back, a swirl of red circling his irises. “Because of Logan? Is he a part of why you’re so grown up now?”

  “Oh my God.” She glared. “Not that it’s any of your business, since you were the one who walked out. But for your information—no, he’s not.”

  Lifting his arms, he rubbed his fingers across his eyes and then along his chin. “Gabrielle…” He groaned and shook his head.

  Elle reached out and buried her fists into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling herself closer. “Seven years is a long time. Give me a chance. Give us a chance.” Her mouth covered his, and she nipped his lower lip before licking away whatever sting she’d left behind. Damn, he tasted so delicious. Like hot, sweetened spice that made your mouth water for more.

  Strong hands clutched the sides of her head and peeled her mouth from his. “You don’t want me, kitten.” His words rumbled an inch above her lips.

  “Yes, I do,” she breathed.

  Arran growled and then seized her mouth, kissing her as if he was a demon released from hell, and she was his first taste of light. And God, it was good.

  His lips trailed across her cheek, her chin. The scrape of his short beard along her face had her nipples tightening into hard peaks and a rush of moisture gathering between her legs. She leaned her head to the side as he made his way to her ear and then down the side of her neck. Her heart raced. Elle ran her hands down his back and over the hard muscles that rippled under the leather he wore. She loved the way he felt in her arms.

  He licked at her neck, and she couldn’t help but moan. Then the sharp sting of fangs scored her throat. She jerked and froze, digging her nails into the leather on his back. Images of long fangs, stained with blood, flashed inside her mind. She gasped. Memories of a suffocating stench flooded her mind, horrible pain, pulling her under into darkness.

  No escape.

  She was going to die.

  Shoving her palms against his arms, she flung herself away from his chest. She scrambled off the bike, nearly tumbling face-first into the dirt. The sound of her blood pounded away in her ears, an ironic drumbeat to the passion that had made her pulse race moments before.

  Whirling, she faced him and reached for her throat, needing to soothe the ache there. She pulled her hand away and glanced down. In the shadow of her headlights, a dark, wet stain smeared her skin. Her hand trembled at the sight. Hold it together, Elle. Remember, you’re all grown up now.

  “You son of a bitch.” She dragged her gaze from her palm and to his face. He didn’t speak; instead, he leaned over and snatched his helmet with one hand from the ground. When his gaze returned to hers, he shook his head and sighed.

  “Get out of here, Gabrielle. This is not what you want. And I’m definitely not who you want.”

  Her head spun like some skydiver in an out-of-control free fall. And that’s exactly how she felt. She backed away then turned and gripped her car door. What did she really want from him? She was the one running now, proving everything he’d said was right. God that chapped her ass raw. She glanced over at Arran. He sat there, holding his helmet between his legs—waiting for her to leave first.

  “Go to hell, MacLain.”

  “Been there. Many times,” he said with half a smile. “The guy with the horns keeps a seat hot for me.”

  Chapter Five

  Elle yawned, reached up, and worked her palm in a lazy circle over the wet mirror in the steamy bathroom. Slowly, the blurred image of her face came into focus. If only it were that easy to remove the doubt and fear from her mind. With just the wave of her hand, all would be right with her world. Kenric and Arran had offered years ago to erase her memory of that night. She had refused. The DEAD attack in the alley seven years ago, and the memories of her childhood nights spent fighting off her mother’s boyfriend-of-the-week before she’d married their step-father, had made her the woman she was today: a fighter. Stronger. She didn’t need anyone manipulating the neurons in her brain so that she could cope.

  Hell, that’s what she’d been doing since the day she was born, coping.

  She breathed a heavy sigh, followed by another yawn. The day had been a long one. Without the deep dark UV protection over the windows, her sister’s apartment was much lighter during the day than she was used to, making it hard to sleep. That, and the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about what had finally surfaced between her and Arran.

  He was right. She had been deluding herself for years, ignoring the fact that he was a vampire and the needs that entailed. Instead of dealing with her trauma, she’d been burying it. Working with the Enclave had given her a physical outlet against her enemy, but last night had forced her to take a hard look at herself. Her bigger problem existed deep inside. If she didn’t find a way to exorcise that nasty little demon out of her head, she would always be the victim.

  And she was nobody’s victim.

  An hour later, she’d finished the last touch on her eyeliner when the doorbell rang. Tugging the zipper up on her waist-length, red leather vest, she headed downstairs to the door.

  As she came down the steps, she spotted through the front door’s narrow windowpane a red-and-black motorcycle parked next to her convertible. Unbidden, a groan released from her throat, and she froze on the last step. Why was she surprised? Even after what happened last night, she should have known he wasn’t going to allow her to search for her sister alone. He may have left the Enclave, but he was still the same alpha male warrior: arrogant and hardheaded.

  By the time she reached the door, Arran was putting fist to wood in a slow and steady pounding.

  “I know you’re home, Gabrielle,” he yelled through the door. “You might as well open the door.”

  Giving a hard twist to the brass knob, she yanked the door open. “What are you doing here?”

  Arran stood with one hand gripping each side of the door. He tilted his head and stared down at her. “I said I would be here. I promised to help you find your sister, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  The moonlight’s
silhouette wrapped his body from behind, marking the wide breadth of his shoulders, the perfect angle of his jaw, and the straight slope of his nose. He’d left his hair down tonight, allowing the alternating black and blond layers to fall across his shoulders. The blond streaks reflected the moonbeam’s silvery light. He looked like a god wrapped in Satan’s clothing.

  He dropped his arms and sauntered past her. Elle closed the door and turned, her gaze following the way his body moved under his leather jacket. The way his hair swayed, brushing the top of his shoulder blades. She bit her lip. The temptation to savor the rest of the view was killing her.

  Don’t look.

  Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

  Don’t do this to yourself.

  Damn, she couldn’t resist. Elle’s gaze dropped.

  His black boots were scuffed, dusty, and worn in that I-don’t-give-a-shit-but-I’m-sexy-as-hell-anyway manner. Her eyes moved up as he turned around at the staircase and leaned against the post. On impulse, she licked her lips at the large bulge waiting behind the fly of his leather pants. She swallowed and breathed deep, trying to calm the flutters in her stomach. The scent of cinnamon and leather hung in the air, sending a jolt of electricity straight through her. She had to move.

  Rubbing her palm low across her abdomen, she headed for the living room. The desire to rip his clothes off and rub herself all over that amazing body drove her crazy. She also didn’t need bloodhound back there to get a whiff of her arousal. Distance. Yep, that was the answer.

  “I don’t need a chaperone,” she said from behind her sister’s green couch, staring at the bright glow of the moon outside the window.

  The thump of his boots against the wooden floor followed her into the room and stopped. She refused to turn around. God help her, she didn’t need another eyeful.

  “I like your hair better this way.” His words were soft, almost caressing. And not what she expected. Stunned, she turned, automatically reaching up and grasping a few of her locks. It was then she glimpsed the natural chestnut color of her hair. Ah, right. Last night, she’d worn the black wig.