So why did that appear so desirable when she must have seen the same expanse of flesh, if not more, that evening?
Because he was tying his neckcloth around her wrists, binding them in a figure eight. “I shall let you go,” he said in a lethal purr, “when I have my money’s worth. If you think that necklace is glass, then I’ll take it back.”
“No!” she gasped, every inch the venal courtesan. This acting was catching. She felt the need of a lone woman making her money on her wits alone with no safety net, no husband, family, or welfare system. Although he didn’t consider those considerations important, she had to. Couldn’t afford not to. “I will keep it and have it assessed.”
He bent low to her neck. “Then I will have your value. How much do you think you’re worth?”
“Half an hour,” she said boldly. “I can earn that in thirty minutes. If you prove amusing, I might give you an hour.”
His breath puffed against her throat. “Let’s get out of here.”
When he touched her wrists, they burned. Agony arcing up her arms, invading her body as if every nerve had caught fire.
He sensed it almost as soon as she did. Scorching heat, getting worse by the second. “Shit!”
Heedless of their game, he snapped the fabric around her wrists, using vampire strength to rip the fabric apart. His eyes wholly on her, he took her out of the room to the sound of light applause and even a few sighs, but neither of them paid much notice.
Trembling shivers racked her, and she clutched him, the nearest solid object, pinching his skin, letting her claws mark him. He grunted, the only response she received.
The air turned cool, and she gazed up into stars, watching them pass in a kind of half-waking, half-sleeping state. All that mattered for her now was the pain, though she fought hard not to release any screams. His arms rubbed against the tender skin of her back, and she closed her eyes, refusing to allow the tears to fall.
“They won’t follow us,” he said. “Keep up your mental barriers.”
Although he said no more, the gentleness in his tone, far more than he’d allowed before, told her of his changed mood. “Are you allergic to silver?”
“Yes.” That was it, what it felt like, but when had she come into contact with silver? Her hands had swollen, together with her wrists, and the reaction was spreading. Blood seeped from wounds that shouldn’t be there because he hadn’t used anything sharp on her.
Agony lashed her. Instead, she curled into his chest and released everything except coping with the present.
Chapter Three
Jay had to block, take some of Lucille’s agony on himself. He’d rarely come across such a violent reaction, although he recognized the typical vampire allergy to silver as soon as it had started in her. Touching the substance didn’t bother him at all, but he took care never to wear it when he was around others of his kind. As far as he knew, he’d done that tonight.
Oh, shit, no.
The rash was transforming into wounds as her sensitive skin split under the swelling distorting the area his neckcloth had touched. The marks were still forming on her arms, scattering over her body, wheals that broke open as fast as they formed, blood seeping, then pouring.
The neckcloth. This reaction had to have something to do with that. Now he regretted not picking it up, or ordering someone to do it before he’d left the room, but all his attention had been on Lucille and the urgency to care for her.
He had to cut his mind away from her while he pushed his concerns down too deep for her to detect. Getting in telepathic contact with his assistant, he double-checked that the fugitives were safe and on their way. Then he ordered him to have security retrieve the strip of cloth if they could find it.
Blue, it had to be Blue who’d sabotaged the neckcloth, but Jay had no time to cope with that bastard now. She could die from this.
Wincing, she raised a hand and grazed his face. The scent of fresh blood wreathed around them. “I’ll recover. I know it looks bad.” She coughed, and a thread of scarlet trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Panic gripped him. “Let me take care of you. I hurt you more than I meant to.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “Was it?” Already her voice sounded faint, drifting.
Mutely, he shook his head, but guilt sank his stomach. His neckcloth had done this to her because he’d touched her wrists with nothing else. Silver could be reduced to a powder, used in starch or shaken over fabric to contaminate it.
He shouldered open a door and strode outside into the fresh air. He could have traveled indoors, but he’d have had to walk through the party with Lucille in his arms, then taking the long route to his rooms. This way he could run up the set of stairs by the kitchen and get there faster.
He’d been careless, failed to check everything. He never made mistakes—never—but his anxiety to see this woman at his party had made him negligent.
He got to his suite, unlocked it, and barged inside, holding the now silent Lucille as carefully as he could. He brushed her mind. She was dazed, close to unconsciousness. That mustn’t happen. She could slip into a coma. Truth was, he wasn’t sure, had never seen an allergy as violent as this one.
First, wash off the contamination.
He took her in the shower, turned the deluge head to the softest spray possible, but with a wide spread so it encompassed all of her. Gently, he put her on her feet, stripping the rest of her clothing as fast as he could, afraid her clothes would stick to her body with the blood.
When she showed signs of coming around from her stupor, he let her stand on her own. He held her wrists under the water, anxious to rinse off the worst area of taint. She had to flush out the poison, and she’d need strength to do it. Only one way he could think of giving it to her.
She didn’t speak. Her eyes were dreamy, her thoughts drifting. He kept his mind firmly in hers as deep as she’d let him. He needed the connection now, to keep her with him while he dealt with her crisis.
Blood poured in a stream, solid at first and then feathering in the water pooling at their feet. By the time he got her naked, the rash had subsided, the flow lessened, and finally he could breathe more freely. He’d got her here in time before her body absorbed the toxin.
Despite the fast-disappearing ugly rash, she was lovely, something he did his best to ignore, telling himself this wasn’t about his attraction to her. She had beautiful, smooth breasts, nipples peaked slightly. Her gently curved stomach had a sweet, dipped navel, her pubic hair was trimmed and the edges shaved neatly. Her fiery natural color blazed like an invitation.
Not now. However much he told himself that, it didn’t stop him desiring her.
He stripped, not bothering with fastenings, slicing off his clothes and face mask with an extended claw. They fell away like extraneous peel, unwanted and unnecessary. He kicked them into the corner of the shower, where they soaked up the bloody water.
When the water at last ran clearer, he breathed again. If she’d ingested the substance, it could have been worse. Jesus fucking Christ, who had done this?
After turning off the water, he wrapped her in a warm towel and lifted her from the shower. Now he could reach the bath, operated from a panel set in the tiles above the large corner tub. He set the temperature slightly higher than usual, mindful of her immediate need to keep warm to counteract possible shock.
Every second seemed like forever, and as soon as he had six inches of hot water, he climbed into the tub, helping her in after. Sitting, he drew her back against him between his spread legs. “Ignore that,” he said when his erection pressed against her, and she shifted.
He found the position uncomfortable, but he’d become accustomed to that kind of discomfort a long time ago. She came first. The last thing she needed was his cock. Even as the thought crossed his mind, his wayward shaft twitched, proving his control wasn’t as supreme as he’d believed it.
He had to concentrate on her, the woman he’d hurt, however inadverten
tly.
After finding the porcelain jug he kept by the bath, he sank it in the water and poured a stream over her abused skin. He emptied more over her, then reached for the soap. It had a natural anesthetic; it would help her recover. She’d be exhausted by the time these wounds healed. Her vampire state meant she would heal fast, but at sunrise her mortal nature would return, so he had to get her well by then.
The places where the rash had attacked her most viciously were still open but closing rapidly. First he had to clean the wounds and ensure she wouldn’t scar and nothing would interfere with the healing process.
After flooding the area again, he passed the soap between his hands, working up a lather. She’d bent forward as if avoiding his attention, making a small bundle of herself. When he touched her back, her body shivered, one quiver of flesh, but she gave no other sign of accepting or rejecting his touch.
Some Talents took nudity for granted. Shape-shifters tended to accept it as a mundane occurrence, but for a vampire to get naked with another, it meant closeness, a measure of trust. He did his best to ignore the implications.
When he contacted her mind, he read the shards of shock. Not serious, but there. He needed to help, so he let her know he’d entered her mind.
She responded by embracing him with warmth, so much that his cock threatened to swell to bursting. More than warmth—desire. Need.
He withdrew. “You can’t. Please, let me help you.” Feeling weak as her, he reached out, this time with his hands, and continued his self-appointed task. “I’m sorry. I usually double-check for silver when I know I’m coming into contact with Talents, but tonight I didn’t. It was my neckcloth.” Impossible to discover who’d tampered with it. He sent his clothes to a laundry service, so any number of people had contact with it. But he’d find out. Maybe someone hadn’t realized he wasn’t allergic to silver. Lucky break for him but not for her. Now that the immediate crisis had gone, he sent a mental message to his assistant to detain Blue, or at least have him tracked if he left the premises.
“You had a lot on your mind.” Her voice shook.
He cursed himself for acting like an irresponsible bastard.
He carried on smoothing his soapy palms over her back, massaging, urging the skin to heal. The rash was becoming less livid, the swelling around it going down. “I don’t know if Blue will try to spread the word about the allergy.” Or that he didn’t have it. Anyone seeing him tonight must have learned he didn’t suffer from the allergy, especially when they saw the effect it had on her.
“Is that his real name?”
“It’s the only one I know.”
“You think it’s him?”
“Who else?”
“Why would he do this?”
“Not all Talents are on the same side,” he reminded her. She was so young, so sheltered, had never seen the terrible things Talents could do to one another when they considered themselves at odds. Feuds, hatred. Although most of them banded together to retain anonymity, renegades remained. Blue could be one of those.
But why would he approach them? Why not keep his distance? Jay didn’t know, but he’d sure as hell find out.
He rinsed her, watching with relief as she healed. He’d witnessed this phenomenon too often for it to startle him, but her smooth, pale skin lightly tanned fascinated him. It glowed. When he drew her closer so her back rested against his chest, she didn’t flinch, something that pleased him inordinately. However, her muscles stayed tense, and she didn’t turn to him immediately, as if she was preparing herself for the encounter.
He should have taken his cue from her. When he finally met her sapphire eyes, they delivered a shock to his system. Pure desire leaped through him, raising an involuntary groan. Control, he needed control.
“Your fugitives, did they get away?”
He nodded. “They’re on their way. They’ll be at the next station by daybreak.”
“That’s what brought you home?”
He grimaced. “Yes. This house is part of the Thorndyke chain.”
“I never realized there was a station nearby.” When her pink lips moved, forming the words, he had to concentrate to listen to what she was saying. Up close he found her even more irresistible. Her lassitude no longer worried him as much as it had, because he could ensure her rest tonight. At least he thought he could. The notion that somehow she belonged to him took hold of Jay and wouldn’t let go. With her lips a breath away from his, he couldn’t deny his yearning for her.
Except he had to. What kind of cad would he be to use her when she required comfort and healing?
“I see you,” she said. “I don’t need telepathy to know what you want.” The woman wriggled her ass.
“I’m bad, but not as bad as that.” He kept completely still, forcing his desire down with every sense he owned. Except she smelled so good and she felt so soft, yet firm muscle beneath attested to an active lifestyle. Her gaze smoldered, or was that wishful thinking on his part? If she chose to tease him, he had no choice but to take it. He deserved it after all.
“I’m feeling better already,” she murmured.
“Still weak.” With an effort he kept his voice steady. “I’m here. Take what you need.”
She froze, her gentle movements pausing. “You want me to feed?”
He nodded briskly. “You should take blood. Healing takes effort.”
“You want me to feed from you.” She swallowed.
“Do you see anyone else here?”
LUCILLE HAD KNOWN she was a goner from the minute he tore the mask away from his face and she saw his expression—stark with need he was trying so desperately to damp down. His body, yes, she’d expected the ripped, powerful form. She’d already seen his torso, one she’d have drooled over under different circumstances, and those tight pants hadn’t hidden a great deal.
She glanced down and stilled in shock.
His cock appeared to be lashed to his leg.
When he followed her gaze, he grunted, then reached down to unclasp the chain. Drawing it away, he murmured, “Don’t worry, it’s platinum” before dropping it over the side of the tub as if it were worthless.
His cock sprang up, but a piece of jewelry, a ring, remained threaded through—through?—his shaft, seemingly entering at the top and exiting slightly to one side. He wasn’t circumcised, so the foreskin gathered around the base of the plump head.
“What is that?”
“Never heard of a Prince Albert?”
She blinked. “No.”
“Common among fashionable men of my time. Done to keep the pants smooth, or that was the story, though there were other reasons. The shape of a cock, even sleeping, can spoil the line of the garment.”
She choked a shocked laugh. “All this for fashion?” She lifted her attention to his face. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
Eyes so intense without the mask, black brows snapping over them, frowning in concern for her. A bad boy with a conscience. His lips, so full, tempting, and dark, crisp hair, cropped into an expensive, short style that begged for someone to ruffle it a little. Shocking she could want him so badly after her near brush with death. She wasn’t fooled. That kind of close contact with silver could have killed her if he hadn’t acted so promptly.
He’d handled her so gently, so carefully, he’d melted her. They’d been in this bath for around twenty minutes, and he’d shown no sign of subsiding. Got harder if anything. And that ring—intriguing. “Can you—”
“What?”
“Do everything?”
“Pee, you mean?” His bluntness seemed a part of him. “I manage. Have sex? That too. I’m told it can enhance the experience. I usually wear a curved bar, but tonight I needed the ring. I use platinum and gold, not silver.” He read the question in her mind. “Protection? I can use a condom if I have to, if it’s expected.” When she would have turned her attention back to his cock, he touched her chin, keeping her attention on his face. “You’re still weak. You need to replenish what you�
��ve lost.”
Awareness sparked between them. He knew what she was going to say, but she said it anyway. “Sex will make it work better.”
At first when he brought her here, she’d concentrated on recovering. She’d suffered injuries before. Doing her job, living where she did, it’d be hard to avoid it. She’d broken her leg in a fall from a horse. That had taken two nights to heal. She fully expected as long from these wounds, and she’d need tomorrow night to get over the weakness, but if she fed, that would speed the process.
He watched her as she turned around to face him. His gaze was intense; his presence rested in the outer fringes of her mind. She needed him deeper, mind and body—an impulse that came from somewhere in the primitive heart of her, the unthinking part. Resolution like she’d never felt before took hold, urging her instincts to the fore. Not the reasoning woman, but the powerful vampire, the part of her she’d never trusted enough to act on what it told her before tonight.
This would be the first time, because he stirred everything in her. Before he’d bound her, when he touched her breasts, a flash of something stark and true had shot across her thoughts before he masked it. Desire. Well, it went both ways. Now he’d done what he’d come to do, he’d be moving on. A few days, maybe. He’d never stayed longer, to her knowledge. That was why she hadn’t met him before. That, and her parents’ insistence on the family keeping a low profile.
“If you want me to feed, then let’s do it properly.”
Shock shot through her mind. His. “Have you ever done it this way before?” he asked her.
She shook her head, knowing his meaning. Vampires who fucked while feeding could generate a huge hit, like the best, purest drugs known to man, the finest wine, the rarest Scotch. “I know the risk.” She did, but she didn’t care.
“All of it? What’s certain is we won’t be able to stay apart, at least in our minds. It could take years to sever the connection.”
The Thorndykes 1: Dispossessed Page 4
