by Laura Wright
Sara never saw him move. It was like sensing wind before the gust hit, and in the space of a mere breath, he was standing before her, his eyes feral in their unquenched need. “It’s already pretty fucking painful.”
His arm went around her waist and he gathered her close, his head lowering, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was neither sweet nor soft. It was hard and urgent and hungry—just as he was, and Sara felt unable to resist him or her own curiosity, her own desperation to taste his mouth, his skin. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers gripping his hard, nearly shaved skull.
“You are mine,” he uttered, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, possessing her, lapping at her teeth, groaning as he found the wet heat inside. “An impossible future,” he uttered, pulling back just a breath. “But now—right now—I cannot deny what my unbeating heart desires.”
With his free hand, Alexander untied the knot of silk at her waist and dragged the robe from her shoulders and hips. “Hot skin,” he growled as the white silk landed in a pool around her feet. “Beautiful Sara.”
The cool air hitting her naked flesh warred with the hot touch of the vampire who held her so close. Yes, she could pretend as well as he could. She was his. For now she was his.
Alexander ground his erection against her belly and raked his fangs across her bottom lip. Yes, that was what she wanted. Draw blood. Taste.
The muscles between her thighs quivered at the thought, of the image in her mind—her blood on his tongue—and she reached down, gripped the edges of his shirt, and yanked the fabric over his head. The black thermal flew to the bed just as Sara’s gaze landed on Alexander’s chest. Wide shoulders and thick biceps gave way to yards of lean skin over waves of muscle. Her hands, her touch, began at his throat and drifted lazily downward before sneaking between their bodies. A low, fearsome growl erupted from Alexander’s throat as Sara’s hand closed around the heavy cock in his pants. Mine, she thought, feeling the pulse of his shaft against her palm. Mine. For now . . .
She squeezed him, and with her free hand fumbled with the zipper of his pants. Alexander sucked air between his teeth, pulled back, and stared down at her. “Careful now, woman.” His eyes blazed with lust and his fangs elongated before her eyes. “Release me or blood will be spilled.”
A warning.
He wanted to bite her.
Sara’s fist clenched tighter around his shaft, showing him how badly her cunt wanted to do the same.
“A dangerous game you play,” he hissed, his eyes turning black cherry. He gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed, sat her down on the achingly soft bedspread. He lowered to his knees before her, his even gaze roaming her naked flesh, the trimmed curls between her thighs that glistened with moisture, her flat stomach rising and falling with each heavy, desperate breath, and her sensitive, distended nipples that ached to be suckled.
His fangs quivered. “I have a need to torture myself, can’t breathe without torturing myself.”
Her cunt ached, clenched with a need to be touched, to be filled. “This is torture? Touching me? Kissing me?”
He leaned toward her, his large hands encircling her waist, his mouth closing in on her left breast. “Sweet, painful, exquisite torture.” He latched on to one ridged nipple and suckled deep.
Sara arched her back, giving herself to him as a mother to her child, feeling the tips of his fangs scrape enticingly against the dusky circle surrounding her nipple. Wetness dripped from her core to her thighs and her breathing turned ragged and strained as the early pulls of orgasm hummed within her.
Alexander left one breast for another and fed deeply, his tongue flicking over the aching bud until Sara was panting, her brow glistening with sweat. “Please ...” she moaned. “I need you . . . Please, Alexander.”
“You never have to beg, Sara.” Alexander grabbed her ass, pulled her to the edge of the mattress and whispered, “Open for me.”
Splaying her thighs, Sara glanced down, her gaze foggy, dreamlike. She saw Alexander’s head poised before the entrance to her body and she saw his cock, jutting out from the confines of his pants. She licked her lips, wondering what he tasted like, wondering if she would ever get the chance to find out.
“Open yourself wider,” he uttered, his hands gripping her inner thighs now. “I want to see all of you . . . yes, every pink, swollen inch.”
“What are you doing?” She knew. Yes, she knew—hell, her body knew. She just wanted to hear him say it.
Alexander traced one long finger down her center, making her hips jerk. “Feeding from you in the only way I can.”
As he said the words, clear fluid leaked from Sara’s cunt and she moaned. Alexander saw it too. He lowered his head and lapped at the sweet moisture, groaned as it traveled down his throat. “Oh, sweet love. So hot, so wet. Your taste . . . It will haunt my days, stretch my cock at night.”
“Alexander, please ...”
“Yes,” he whispered, penetrating her with two thick fingers, “ending your torment will be my greatest pleasure.” His dark head disappeared between her thighs, and he licked at her flesh, flicked his tongue over her clitoris, grazed her swollen lips with his fangs. Just as he’d suckled at her breasts, Alexander milked her clit, gently and rhythmically. He slipped a third finger inside her and went deep, curving his fingers to hit the sweet, hidden spot of pleasure.
“Oh God. Alexander ...” Sara gasped, bracing her hands on the bed, and she thrust her hips up, forward, pressing herself tighter against his mouth. As he played her body, Sara’s mind cleared of all thoughts, leaving only sensitized, electrified skin and muscle.
Her legs began to shake, her thighs too, and she felt tears well at the corners of her eyes. He made her feel this way, only him, for however long it lasted, and she would take this memory with her into every night she was without him.
Heat and electricity surged within her and she bucked against his mouth, everything gone, nothing remembered—the only thing that focused her was climax. Her thrusts became wild, unchecked, and she gripped his head as he flicked her clit over and over with his hot tongue. And then she gasped, stiffened, the walls of her core clenching around his fingers, bathing his fingers as rocketing pleasure coursed through her.
“Yes . . . oh God, yes,” she cried out, riding the waves, riding his mouth, each electric current more intense than the last until finally the world slowed and stopped spinning, and her brain was cleared of the fog of passion and everything returned to the way it had been before.
They gripped each other at the same time, holding on tight as sex scented the room, as Sara caught her breath. She wanted him inside of her, but she didn’t want to let go of him either. She opened her eyes and saw the curve of his neck and the shoulder that only hours ago had been ripped into by a bullet. She stared at his skin, blinking to clear the remaining fog in her head as she noticed that the wound had opened again, just a tiny sliver. And it was leaking blood. She licked her lips, ran her fingers over the healed section of his injury.
He hissed.
“I wish I could’ve done this for you,” she said softly. “Healed you.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was everything.”
His hands went to her waist and he eased her back from him. The absence of his skin gave her a cold, lonely feeling that she despised, but the sweet sincerity in his merlot gaze cut her heart deep. “Please understand my meaning. Her power was nothing to me—meant nothing to me. You are the one I want.”
She believed him and knew that their impossibility plagued his heart as much as it did hers. But she couldn’t help herself, she wanted to give him something. She leaned down and kissed his wound.
Alexander froze, his eyes growing wider as he seemed to feel something. “What? What the hell was that?” He cursed, jerked away from her as though she’d burned him.
Sara’s heart started to pound, and she shook her head. “What’s wrong?” She’d never seen him look so panicked, not even in the cred
enti standing before his family. “What did I do?”
He turned his head, stared at the wound on his shoulder. “It opened—how is that possible?”
Sara fought for an answer as she wondered why this seemed so important to him. “Maybe when we were together, when you were—”
“No! Nothing should be able to open that wound after a veana has healed it.” His eyes flew to her face. “Did you get anything on your mouth?”
“What?”
“Blood?” he nearly shouted. “My blood—on your mouth? Did you ingest it?”
She shook her head, confused, troubled. “No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Be sure. What do you taste?”
“Nothing.”
The relief that spread over his face, the way his shoulders dropped with eased tension scared her, perhaps even hurt her a little. It was clear that he wanted no part of himself inside her . . .
He stood, grabbed for his shirt. “I have to go.”
“Why?” Sara asked him, then demanded, “Where?” Just moments ago, he’d given her the most perfect pleasure of her life, while taking nothing for himself. She didn’t understand that, didn’t understand him. She knew he was in need of release—for God’s sake, his cock was still stiff in his pants.
He pulled the thermal over his head. “I have business with the Order, then training.”
“Alexander—”
He stalked over to the door, looking like something a linebacker would fear, but Sara knew . . . she knew him, she knew the heart he swore he didn’t possess. His hand on the doorknob, he paused and muttered, “Shit.” His voice dropped, went as gentle as he could manage. “I apologize for my harshness, I—”
“It’s okay,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she meant it. After all, he wanted to run from her, escape the desire that rushed through him like a tidal wave, and yet it seemed he couldn’t stop himself from coming back for more.
“If I’ve finished before the sun is up, before you must leave for work, I will return—”
Neither could she. “Okay.”
“—to your bed.”
“Yes.” How could she ever refuse him? “Be careful.”
“Good night, Sara.”
When he was gone, the room felt cold and empty, and Sara slipped on her robe again and went over to the window. Black sky and city lights. She doubted she would sleep tonight as her fatigue had all but disappeared.
Turning away from the window, she sat down at the table and stared at her plate of uneaten Chinese food. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of eating, but stopped herself. She would have no interference. Wrong or right, sick or sane, Sara wanted nothing to take away the little bit of Alexander that was inside of her—nothing to quell the hint of sweet metallic that hovered on the tip of her tongue.
Blood.
His blood.
23
Alexander returned to the battleground he and his brothers had once fought on and stood at the mouth of the cave that Sara had slept near and waited for the Order to pull his ass into their sandy little world again. He wasn’t sure if this was how it worked—if the commanding ten would see him without an invitation this time, but it was worth a shot. The mission they’d sent him on had a design flaw and he had to know if those bastards had been aware of it or not—if they’d sent him in cocky and blind. And why.
He closed his eyes, breathed deep.
I’m ready, fuckers.
But when he raised his arms, nothing happened. He remained grounded, the frigid wind pulsing around his body. Behind him, a trio of birds took off and flew over his head, squawking, mocking him.
Goddammit, he wanted to be back in bed with Sara, his arm around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer against him until they fit, locked.
His cock twitched, his shoulder warmed—the open wound she’d touched her lips to an hour ago, now closed again. Another thing unexplained.
He shut his eyes once again and tried to focus. Come on, you bastards. I know you can feel me. He waited, let the moments tick by, but nothing happened. They were playing with him, he just knew—they loved playing with him.
Unable to stand still any longer, he walked to the edge of the small cliff and looked out over the snow-covered valley. He cursed the ruling ten. A hundred years of existing in a world without them and now he was practically begging to go before them.
Full circle had never tasted so goddamn bitt—
His thoughts died in his mind and as he felt himself being yanked from the mountainside, he grinned with satisfaction. They’d felt him.
The flash was quick. He was pitched about in darkness for a couple of seconds, then anchored to the ground.
It took him a moment or two to get his bearings, get his mind solid, but once he did, he crouched down into a fighting stance, his hands up, his eyes working to take in everything at once. But it was not as he remembered. No sand, no ruling ten sitting behind a table, their eyes trained on him. He was in his old credenti, in Montauk. And it was summer.
What the hell?
At first he wondered just what game was being pulled on him—was he being cast back in time or something equally irritating—but then he realized that the Order might, in fact, be here. Several times a year, the Order would travel, visiting credentis, lecturing and teaching on the proper ways for a Pureblood to live, eat, mate. The Triba, it was called. And to startle a community, demonstrate their oh so great power, the Order would abruptly change the season, usually to the opposite of what it was—fall to spring, winter to summer.
Alexander turned and started toward the field that only a day ago had been ankle deep with snow. Now, beneath trees heavy with leaves and air scented with the nearby beach, it was a picturesque stretch of red and purple flowers. As Alexander walked, he saw Impures working in the field, weeding, picking the delicate blooms and putting them in baskets. They glanced up as he passed, then looked away, but their Pureblood neighbors, who sat in groups of ten or so under the shade of the many thick-leafed trees bracketing the field, completely ignored his approach. Each Pureblood was listening to a member of the Order. All but one, anyway. Alexander spotted his little sister, Evaline, sitting with her mother and Theydon under a willow tree. All three were cross-legged, their backs pole straight as they listened to the white-haired female member of the Order. Evaline gave him a small smile, but was quickly reprimanded by her father with a swift yank of her chin back to face the Order.
Alexander’s lip curled. He had protective feelings for the girl, a connection of blood that was hard to ignore. But he would do just that, because no matter what interest she showed him now, with the council and training of her parents, she would grow to revile him in time.
“Back so soon?”
Alexander turned to find Cruen standing behind him, his red robe brilliant in the sunshine, his startling blue gaze accentuated by the single black circle brand around his left eye—the one that proclaimed to all the world “I am Order.”
“We have a problem,” Alexander told him.
“We?”
“Did you know that Dare can flash?”
Cruen glanced around at the other members of the Order who were busy with the Triba, unable to hear their conversation; then he sniffed and uttered, “Impossible.”
“It happened before my eyes,” Alexander said. “And he took an entire table of Impures with him.”
For one moment, Cruen appeared thoughtful; then he shrugged and offered a flippant gesture with his hand. “It was a trick. Human magic, no doubt.”
“That’s bullshit, and I think you know it.”
“I’m surprised at you, Alexander Roman. I had heard you and your brothers were great warriors in battle, keen observers—but you have fallen for a parlor trick.”
“This wasn’t a fucking Vegas lounge act, Cruen. I know the difference. This was Pureblood flashing.”
“Silence,” Cruen hissed. Behind him, the other members of the Order were ending their sessions. “Yo
u will return and fulfill our agreement. And next time, we will summon you. Understand?” His blue eyes flashed and he hissed low and ugly, “Son of the Breeding Male.”
Fangs flashing, Alexander lunged at the paven. But even with his quick mind and shocking speed, he made no connection with Cruen. The paven was gone in an instant, and Alexander was yanked out of the credenti by an unseen force, thrust into the now familiar blackness and dropped beside the mouth of the cave.
Seething, he snatched up a large rock from the ground and threw it against the cave’s wall. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces, and Alexander couldn’t help but wish it had been Cruen’s arrogant, thick head.
Cursing into the cold mountain air, he clamped his eyes shut and flashed home.
Thirty minutes later, he was sitting in one of the brown leather chairs in the library, a stockpile of weapons on the table beside him and a vampire physician, who had come to check on his shoulder wound, pacing the floor in front of him.
“So do you have an answer for it?” Alexander asked, his conversation with the Order pushed to the back of his mind. For now.
Leza shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” She stopped in front of him and ran her hand over the smooth skin of his shoulder. “Are you certain the wound was open?”
“Of course I’m certain!” Alexander returned gruffly. “I felt it, saw it—saw the tears of blood weep from it.”
“Well, it has healed itself again.”
Alexander cocked his head to one side. “Don’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind, Leza. Sara saw it too. In fact, she ...”
“She what?” the physician interrupted, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.
The look made Alexander pause. He wasn’t about to go there, reveal the details of Sara’s unfortunate, unforgettable kiss to his shoulder. If he did, there would most certainly be a lecture coming his way, not to mention a suggestion for testing to be done on the human female. And after what he’d just endured with Cruen the Prick, he was done listening to reprimands.
