Enthrall Me (Underbelly Chronicles Book 4)

by Tamara Hogan

  They hadn’t shared blood, but somehow, Thane knew exactly what she needed—to be left alone.

  She shut off her brain and soaked.

  Thane finally came into the hall.

  Wyland pushed away from the wall that had provided such necessary, silent support. “Took you long enough,” he muttered. “One more minute and I would have come back in.”

  “And dug an even deeper hole for yourself, laddie? I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “How is she?”

  “Shaky as a newborn foal, but she gutted it out. I didn’t have to talk her into taking a bath rather than a shower.” Thane suddenly grinned. “She called you an epic butthole.”

  “I’m not sure whether to be relieved or concerned.”

  “Let her cool off,” Thane advised. “Go to work, gather your thoughts. Because she’s right—she doesn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal because you thralled her into drinking from you.” After a pause, he asked, “Why did you thrall her into drinking from you?”

  He closed his mental drawbridge with a clang. Because seeing her crumpled on the pavement, bloody, burned and unconscious, scared me more than anything in my life. Because I love her. “Needle phobia,” he said. “I had to stitch her, and she was scared shitless. And she had a concussion. With a blood exchange, I could—”

  “Bah. Memorial was less than a mile away. You had other options, and you know it.”

  “I—”

  “You know it.” Thane’s hand on his shoulder was a comforting weight. “You don’t have to justify your actions to me, but for god’s sake be honest with yourself, and with Tia.”

  Be honest with himself? He loved her, and it felt like someone was yanking his entrails out through his throat.

  “Go to work, Wyland. She’ll be here, and feeling better, when you get home. I’ll be sure of it.”

  “Thank you.” He kissed Thane on both cheeks, then went next door to his bedroom to get his briefcase. Thane was right; he needed time to think this through. How could it be, now that he had access to Tia’s emotions, that he understood her more poorly than ever?

  When he got home, he and Tia would talk.

  Using spoken words.

  When Wyland walked into the kitchen some eight hours later, he still hadn’t figured out what to say to Tia, much less when, where, and how. Setting the scene seemed a good first step, but a romantic meal, or a glass of wine in bed, seemed stereotypical. Trite. And not medically advised.

  Thane could help. He had a feel for things like this. “Thane?” he called.

  No response.

  How odd. At this time of the day, Thane was usually puttering in the kitchen. He’d clearly been here recently. The handle of a pan jutted from a sink full of soapy dishwater, and an unopened bottle of Ensure sat on the counter top.

  Voices in the living room.

  Dropping his briefcase onto one of the kitchen chairs, he quietly went through the swinging door into the dining room, pausing just out of sight. “Bloody hell.” They had company—Diana and Alexander Quinn.

  Tia’s parents.

  Thane was making small talk as he served them coffee. Behind the bar, Tia poured coffee for Valerian, using a larger mug he could more easily hold. Val sat in his throne-like chair, looking hale, hearty, and pleased to receive visitors.

  From the sleep creases on her cheek, and her messy tumble of hair, it was safe to conclude Tia had just woken up. The stretchy exercise clothes covered most of her skin, but clung too faithfully for his comfort. But her face…her poor face. No amount of blood could heal bruises so soon after an injury, and today, her black eyes were at their most spectacular degree of coloration. In the unlikely event her parents had missed the bruising, black sutures marched across her temple like railroad tracks.

  She tucked her hair behind an ear, exposing more of her gorgeous, sunburned neck. Despite the burn, his fangs throbbed, and guilt crept up on silent feet. Tia’s father was part faerie, and highly empathic. If mild-mannered Alexander Quinn had the slightest inkling of Wyland’s lascivious thoughts, the man would probably string him up.

  And he’d deserve it.

  He suddenly felt like a pimple-spotted suitor.

  By any measure, the Quinns were an impressive pair. Like most vampires who’d reached over century of longevity, Tia’s parents were wealthy. Though their first fortune had been built upon timber and logging, Diana Quinn, a financial whiz, had increased the family’s net worth dozens of times over by investing in some of the twentieth century’s most successful technologies: mass-produced automobiles, plastics, and computers. She and Alex had formed The Quinn Family Foundation, funneling most of what Alexander called their “first world spoils” to the developing world, providing food, clean water, sanitation, and medicine to those who lived in poverty.

  Tia handed Valerian his coffee, her hand lingering until she was certain he had a firm grasp on the oversized mug. “So, how was Ethiopia?” she asked her parents, sitting on the overstuffed chair. She tucked her feet under her seat, curling up comfortably before reaching to the side table for a tall glass of lime green soda.

  As they talked about distributing anti-diarrheal medication, Tia’s parents exchanged a glance Wyland had no trouble interpreting. Helping serve beverages? Touching Valerian so familiarly? Curling up, barefooted, on a chair in her leaders’ home? Her parents didn’t know Tia had been living here for weeks, and had made their home her own.

  She’d made his bed her own.

  Bloody hell.

  Why had he agreed with Tia’s decision not to tell her parents about the break-in at her house? She’d been in danger for weeks—months—and her parents were completely in the dark.

  “Wyland, there you are,” Thane said.

  The too-hearty voice was a tip-off that he needed to step carefully. “Hello.”

  “Diana and Alexander have come to see Tia.”

  “So I see.” How much information had Tia shared with her parents? How many secrets remained? “Diana, Alexander, how nice to see you.”

  “Wyland!” Setting her saucer on the coffee table, Diana rose, walking toward him with her hands extended in welcome. “It’s been too long.”

  Wearing distressed jeans and a turquoise silk blouse, and with her hair dyed an unrepentantly unnatural burgundy, Diana looked more like Tia’s sister than her mother. He met her halfway, taking her hands. “Diana.” As he bent to kiss Diana’s cheeks, he saw Tia mouth “sorry” at him from behind her mother’s back. “Hello, Alexander.”

  “Wyland.”

  After kissing Alexander’s cheeks, he urged them to sit, to relax. To reveal why they were here.

  As if Tia’s bruised face wasn’t reason enough.

  “Tia?”

  Tia looked at her mother. “Hmm?”

  Diana exchanged an exasperated glance with her bondmate, then looked back at her daughter. “Please rise and greet your Second.”

  Diana Quinn’s voice brooked no argument, and Tia rose to obey.

  Only he could see her expression, see her lips quirk and her eyes sparkle with mischief as they flicked over his frame. Only he heard her murmur “suit porn” as she kissed his cheek. Only he felt her tongue scrape against his beard as she kissed the other.

  “Hello, Wyland.”

  “Hello.” He was as hard as a henge beneath his tailored suit, and the little witch knew it. “How are you?”

  “Horny,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “And I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” All signs of her earlier anger were gone, as if a quick thunderstorm had washed away all the dirt and grime, leaving fresh, clean air in its wake. When Deirdre had been displeased, the whole world knew it. Her dark moods had been tempests, violent storms that took days to pass.

  Tia gave a vague, one-shouldered shrug. “For being a brat earlier. For not thanking you for taking care of me. For my parents showing up without notice.” She glanced over her shoulder. “They stopped by my house earlier, and then FaceTimed
me when I didn’t answer the door. I answered, Dad saw the bruises, and he—they—insisted on seeing me for themselves.”

  He nodded. “Understandable.”

  “But I’m fine.”

  She probably felt better, but her face looked like a father’s worst nightmare. Black eyes, bruising on her left cheek and nose, and rather than its usual white, the sclera of her left eye was suffused with blood. He was lifting his hand to her bruised cheek when Thane spoke.

  “Wyland? Would you like a beverage?”

  Shit. He dropped his hand. “How much have you told your parents?” he murmured.

  “Let me do the talking.”

  “That’s not the least bit helpful.”

  He chose a chair as far away from Tia as possible. Thane handed him a bloody Perrier.

  “I understand you treated Tia after her mishap in Sebastiani Security’s parking lot,” Alexander said. “Thank you so much.”

  “I was glad to help.” If he’d only prevented her from getting hurt in the first place. “Her recovery is progressing nicely.”

  “And I wouldn’t have missed Coco’s birth for the world,” Tia added. “Scarlett is fine, and Coco is absolutely adorable, of course. She has a full head of bright red hair.”

  “Of course she does,” Diana said wryly.

  There were a disproportionate number of redheads in their culture, with three—Tia, Diana, and Thane—sitting right here in this room.

  Tia suddenly straightened in her chair. “What’s the date today?”

  “September first.”

  “Crap.” Tia gestured to her face. “I think I’m going to have to reschedule my meeting with the Senator.”

  Alexander nodded, wincing. “That might be best.”

  Why would Tia be meeting with a human senator? He was glad when Valerian asked.

  “Apparently the senior senator from Minnesota is reading my human trafficking series. She’d like to talk about Jane, a young human woman I interviewed who recently escaped her pimp. He had her working at the man camps near North Dakota’s Bakken oil fields.”

  Tia’s work had come to the attention of a United States senator?

  “Minnesota recently passed a law that protects sex trafficking victims from being prosecuted as criminals,” Tia said. “The Senator’s pushing a similar bill at the federal level. The fact that Jane’s exploitation took place across state lines shouldn’t matter. ”

  North Dakota’s recent oil boom had attracted laborers from all over the country, creating an imbalance in the ratio of men to women in the areas surrounding the oil fields. It didn’t surprise him that pimps, seeing a business opportunity, had moved to fill the gap. He’d seen similar boom and bust cycles happen time and time again.

  “Jane’s story is, unfortunately, a familiar one,” Tia said. “Her parents kicked her out, something about a boyfriend. She couch-surfed with friends for a while, but finally ended up on the streets.” Her lips tightened. “A guy offered her food, a place to stay, and then brought her to North Dakota, where she and two other women worked out of a trailer. They each had a daily quota, and they were beaten and starved if they didn’t meet it.”

  “How horrible,” Thane said.

  “Well, Jane escaped, and made it back to Minneapolis. The Foundation helped her find safe shelter, and I have a line on a possible job, but she’s not ready to go to the police yet.”

  “Baby steps,” Alexander said. “She’s safe, and right now that’s the most important thing.”

  “I know, but…” Tia gave a frustrated sigh. “I just wish I could do more to help.”

  More than offering a young crime victim food, shelter, safety, and possible employment? She’d already performed miracles.

  “Give her a chance to make her own decisions,” Diana advised. “She’ll contact you when she’s ready.” A trio of silver bracelets jingled when she reached for Alexander’s hand. “So, does the Senator realize you’ll be interviewing her as much as she’ll be interviewing you?”

  Tia’s only answer was a canny smile.

  Even dressed in exercise gear, sitting cross-legged in an oversized chair, with two black eyes, sleep creases marring her face, and drinking noxious green soda, Tia looked capable. Formidable. Businesslike.

  Tia’s blog was no trust fund baby’s attempt to fill the time. In Like Quinn had a much wider reach, and a more significant impact, than he’d ever realized.

  Why hadn’t he ever asked her about her work?

  She was starting to tire, to wilt a little in her chair. That was something he could do something about. As Valerian talked to Diana and Alexander about their trip to Ethiopia, he went behind the bar and warmed a bag of blood. After pouring it in a tall tumbler, he went to Tia’s chair and swapped it for the half-empty glass of soda.

  “Hey.” She made a grab for the glass, but missed. “Give me that.”

  “You need blood, not sugar and chemicals.”

  Tia slowly rose. Despite her bare feet, she looked haughty as a queen. “Wyland, we talked about this. My teeth, my body, my nutrition, my decision. You’re not the boss of me.”

  “Tia!” Diana gasped.

  “Well, he’s not.”

  He shouldn’t find her display of temper so bloody arousing, but he did. He could almost see steam shooting from her ears. So alive. “Actually, I am…” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Your doctor,” he finished. “And your doctor—” your lover “—advises you to drink this blood to aid in your healing.” Under her half-zipped jacket, a white lace camisole teased him. He smelled lilacs mixed with Thane’s liniment, the minty homemade balm that made painful muscles sing The Hallelujah Chorus.

  Heat brewed in the space between them, mere inches now instead of several safe feet. “Please,” he murmured, stroking her bruised cheek with a touch that was nowhere near professional. “Drink it for me.”

  Her lips compressed into an annoyed, adorable pout. He’d backed her into a corner, and she knew it. The snap in her eyes told him he’d pay for it later.

  Any price you wish.

  When her gaze dropped to his neck, lust coiled like a spring.

  Diana looked confused. Alexander’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.

  He didn’t care. “Please.”

  With a put-upon sigh, Tia drank the blood, then set the glass on the table with a snap. “There.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. “Happy now?”

  “Yes.” For the time being. “Thank you.”

  “Tia Tèodora Quinn.” Alexander’s voice snapped like a whip. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  Her answer didn’t seem to satisfy her father, who eyed him with a dawning knowledge, and a father’s understandable concern. “Wyland, may we speak with Tia privately?” Though Alexander’s request was respectfully phrased, the demand was clear.

  “Certainly.” Did he think Tia was a prisoner here?

  “My room is lovely,” Tia suggested. “How about there?”

  The room was lovely, but if not for her injuries, it would show no sign of recent use.

  Across the room, Thane was working hard to keep a straight face. Unholy amusement was about ready to bend him double.

  Tia brushed a soft kiss against his lips, then turned to her parents. “Come on.” She indicated the stairs. “Mom, you’re going to die when you see this bathroom.”

  Shock shackled him in place. Did she realize what she’d done? Given the glances bouncing between Diana and Alexander as they followed their chattering daughter upstairs, her parents certainly did. “Bloody, bloody hell.” He stalked to the bar, poured two fingers of scotch, and tossed it back. The liquor burned down his throat, leaving warm embers in its wake.

  Thane snatched the bottle from his hands. “Laddie, that’s no way to treat thirty-year Lagavulin. If you’re looking to get stinking drunk, choose a lesser beverage.”

  “I’m not going to get drunk.” Truth be told, Tia’s surprise kiss made him feel a
little tipsy all on its own. Whatever had possessed her to kiss him like that—kiss him like a lover—in front of her parents?

  “That’s good to hear. If you drink too much, you’ll be limp as a noodle later, after her parents leave.” Thane winked. “If you know what I mean.”

  “I’m ignoring you.”

  “So, meeting the girlfriend’s parents.” Thane leaned against the bar, nudging him with an elbow. “Alexander’s a pacifist, but he looked ready to call you out for trifling with his little girl.”

  “I’m not trifling with her—”

  “For god’s sake, Thane, stop teasing him,” Valerian said from his chair. “Tia’s not a little girl. She’s not a casual lover.”

  Valerian was right, but…so was Thane. Tia’s parents had not looked happy. “How am I going to explain this to them?”

  “You tell them that you love their daughter.”

  He looked upstairs, to where Tia was no doubt being interrogated by her parents. “It’s not that simple.”

  Val shrugged, exchanging a private glance with Thane. “Nothing worth doing ever is.”

  Shame crawled through him. The two men had limited time remaining together, and yet they dared to love.

  They dared to love.

  And speaking of daring… Tia had claimed him, publicly, in front of her parents. What had he done? Stood there like a dolt.

  Tia was right. He was a chickenshit.

  “Bloody hell.” Wyland glanced upstairs again. He wasn’t so daft that he’d interrupt Tia’s conversation with her parents, but if he had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t spend one more night in that lovely guest room.

  He’d take her to bed—to his bed, where she belonged.

  And she’d know he loved her before they left it again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tia set her laptop on the floral Marimekko duvet, then scowled at the guest room door. Where was Wyland? She’d expected to see him the minute her parents left, but here she was, an hour later, propped against the headboard. Alone, and working.