“You must be confused, Gwen. I fuck you when I want to, on my terms.”
Her chest heaved, and her skin flushed—her game had worked. Astonished, he realized he’d given her exactly what she wanted. No harm in that—it was what he wanted too. The translation could wait. He raised his hand again to strike.
“Not my face.”
She’d said the same thing before they’d boarded their plane. And it was a good point. If they were going to approach Kearney, it wouldn’t do for her to be black and blue.
Or would it?
“Let’s show Mason Kearney that you belong to me now.” The first punch landed on her jaw. The second would leave a nice black eye.
Then he punched her in the rib cage, under her left breast. She didn’t make a sound. No protest, no begging. But her eyes gleamed with the most intoxicating blend of fear and submission.
He wanted her naked, but didn’t want to untie her, so he rushed to the kitchen to find a pair of shears.
Later, when he collapsed on top of her, she said, “My notebook is under the mattress.”
He actually laughed, aloud, deep from his belly. She’d played him like a fiddle, anticipating his every move. Not that he liked the idea of being predictable. He would be certain to surprise her later, with a punishment to match her manipulation. His cock was already stirring again at the notion. Her submission was becoming addictive. She saw into him and craved precisely what he wanted to give her. A match made in…well, somewhere unholy for certain.
He unbound her, and found her notebook under the mattress, remembering the way teenaged Lucas used to hide pages he’d torn from the Sears Catalog men’s underwear section in the same place.
Gwen sat cross-legged, with the sheet pulled over her breasts, annotating her translation. “Here it says: The Night Walkers had the Sun in their eyes. Dela-Malkh did not know who was of the Day and who was of the Night. Accompanied by the picture, I’d assume that means the vampires’ eyes turned golden when they fed from the Hunters.”
“Or were they Hunters who had been turned into vampires?”
“Oh. I see. I don’t know. Here, it says: Many Children loved the Night instead of the Day. Dela-Malkh was angry. The Day Walkers were angry. No Children loved the Sun anymore. It sounds like some sort of generational conflict, the younger children abandoned devotion to the sun god, and began to worship the night god, or perhaps the vampire way of life.”
“Yes. That makes sense. The younger generation was possibly seduced by the vampires.”
“It’s always something. Sex, drugs, rock and roll. Vampires.” Her playful lilt made him chuckle, but then her tone grew serious. “Except this doesn’t always happen: Dela-Malkh told the Day Walkers to kill everyone of the Night. Dela-Malkh commanded the Day Walkers to kill their Children.” Her head swiveled to face him. “Ethan, they killed their children.”
He gripped her chin, and forced her to look at them. “Do you think they were wrong to do it?”
She shrunk back, but he held her face tight. Her eyes widened for a flash of a second. “I…I don’t know. I was seduced too.”
Ah. One day, he would ask her about that.
“Gwen, I don’t blame you.”
“Would the other Hunters, though?”
She was a perceptive little thing—smart—and attuned to power, and its uses.
“You belong to me. Not Mason Kearny, and not them. No one will hurt you.” As an afterthought, he added, “Besides me.”
She shivered and leaned her face into his palm like a puppy. “Ethan, what will happen to the girl when you rescue her from Kearney?”
“I will use her as bait to get to Marasović.”
“But will you give her to the vampires?”
“No, I won’t.”
His men would demand the woman’s death, on account of her being a vampire slave. And probably not before they’d had their own fun with her. But there was no cause to tell Gwen that. She seemed the type to fret over the ethics of the situation. As far as he was concerned, there were none besides his victory. But, to her, he was the good guy—a sadistic good guy to be sure—and one she trusted.
Gwen sighed and choked once on her words before they flowed freely. “I worry for her. I was different before, and I don’t want her to end up—”
“Yes. Of course you worry. But we cannot rescue her yet. A few more dominoes need to fall into place.”
The last illustration Lucas had unearthed from his memory was a battle, and he was almost finished tinting it. Golden-eyed vampires fought golden-eyed Hunters to the death under a bright yellow sun. Corpses of each were piled on both sides of the drawing, like tallies. The dead vampires lay headless, and the outcome of the battle was unclear. Lucas suspected the vampires had retreated. Did they take their Hunter mates?
The drawings answered some of his questions, but didn’t illuminate a path ahead. Should he show them to Pedro or escape before every vampire in the house wanted to sink their teeth into him?
He’d earned a modicum of trust at Kaštel, but he wasn’t invited to join the launch party. He would put the drawings away, make a vodka tonic, watch television, and ponder his dilemma. He’d found some very melodramatic soaps over the last week, and he could enjoy the eye candy while he decided his next steps.
His door opened tentatively, but without a knock. Pedro loomed in the shadowy frame, somehow filling it despite his average height. Behind him stood Lobel Marasović.
So much for his plans; the decision had been made for him. It was too late to hide the drawings. He needed to explain fast—
“What the fuck, Lucas?” Pedro asked, instantly at Lucas’s side and looming over the desk.
Bel was there a second later. “It’s the same damn picture. Practically identical. Seriously, what the fuck?”
The same picture? What were they talking about?
“Lucas?” Pedro mouth hung open, his eyes pools of molten gold. He was beyond stunned—he looked like he was back on that table, at Ethan’s mercy.
Fuck. Lucas hadn’t expected that.
“What the hell are these drawings?” Pedro shouted, desperation creeping into his usually confident voice.
Great. Tonight I’ll get to live my very own soap opera. At least the men are just as beautiful.
Bel looked back and forth between them, scratching his head. He must not have known they were lovers, or almost, anyway.
Lucas stood up, pressing his fingers to his mouth. “I was going to show them to you later.” It was possibly true, and that mattered. Lying to Pedro had been a torment, even when it meant saving his own ass.
“I don’t understand.” Pedro’s gaze volleyed between Lucas and Bel, lost. He gripped the chair, as if trying not to sink into the trauma that was dragging him under.
God, Lucas wanted to grab him and hold him tight. He’d probably get his throat ripped out if he tried.
“I drew them, from memory.”
“What were you remembering?” Bel asked, a voice of reason in the unfolding drama.
“A book, an ancient book of my father’s. I haven’t seen it since I was a kid…but I have a…a good memory.”
Bel flipped through the drawings. “Better than good, I’d say. Perfect recall?”
Lucas folded up a corner on one of the pages. “Yeah. For images.”
“So let me get this right.” A steel edge sharpened Bel’s voice. “An ancient book of your father’s, that you saw as a kid?”
Lucas’s heart sank, and he nodded.
“Fuck, you’ve been lying to us from the beginning,” Bel said.
Finally, Pedro spoke. “You’ve known the entire time? Known your blood would do something weird to me?”
“I didn’t know for sure.” Lucas shrugged. “I just suspected.”
Pedro seized his throat in an instant, pinning him against the wall with one strong hand under his chin. He stood on his toes to meet Lucas’s eye, but he didn’t teeter—he was graceful, poised, lethal.
With one secret
, Lucas had unleashed all the rage Pedro had barely controlled.
“Pedro, heel,” Bel said.
The vampire growled. When had he started doing that? He was a fucking animal. The hair on the back of Lucas’s neck stood up, but, so did his cock. Jesus, did he really have it this bad for the guy?
“We need to know.” Bel said. “What exactly did you suspect?”
What could they deduce from the drawings? He paused too long, obviously considering how to best preserve himself. Pedro squeezed his throat.
“Answer.” Bel was cool and commanding next to Pedro’s fiery fury.
“That my blood might give you special powers. Might allow you to tolerate the sun.”
“No shit?” Bel said. “What else?”
May as well come clean now. “Maybe these drawings are the story of where Hunters came from.”
“Fuck you, Lucas.” Pedro spat. “After everything, I still trusted you again. I’m a fucking fool.”
Pedro glared at him, golden eyes burning with hate. Lucas wanted to flinch at the sight of his own eyes hating him like that, but he didn’t look away.
Maybe Pedro felt foolish, but really, Lucas was the fool—not to have realized how the vampire would react to a secret like this. “I was afraid if you all knew what I suspected, I’d be bled dry. Everyone would want a taste.”
Bel snorted. “That’s what Hunters would do, not us.”
“Maybe he’s right.” Pedro’s voice changed, suddenly distant, detached. “Maybe that’s what the vampires did to cause that battle—enslaved the Hunters for their mojo.” He still looked in Lucas’s eyes, but he was talking to Bel.
Enslaved? That’s not what Lucas was getting from the drawings. He was getting frisky fuck buddies of the prehistoric variety. A willing partnership between some Hunters and the vampires. But, if the whole enslavement idea lent Pedro some sympathy for him, he wouldn’t argue.
Bel placed a large tanned hand on Pedro’s shoulder. “What are we going to do with him?”
White-hot fireworks went off in the vampire’s eyes, and Lucas’s stomach did a somersault.
“I still need him to feed. Let’s put him with the other Hunter in the cell.” Pedro locked his right arm around Lucas’s elbow. “Now, I’m going to walk you to the cellar. If you see any party guests, you will smile like you’re my fucking prom date and couldn’t be happier about it.”
He marched Lucas through the wine cellar over to the big warehouse space where Pedro and Andre made wine. Silently, Pedro opened the door to a closet and shoved him inside.
Little Leo Caroli sat on floor looking miserable and pissed off. He sneered at Lucas. “Fight with your boyfriend?”
The comment wasn’t a surprise. His father would have denigrated Lucas in every way possible to distance himself from his son’s treachery.
Lucas took a play from Pedro’s book. “Kid, do not fuck with me right now,” he growled.
Chapter 22
A MAÎTRE D’ HELD OUT LENA’S CHAIR, which was covered in nubby tan ostrich leather. She’d never been to the restaurant before. It was well regarded, and she couldn’t afford it when she lived in the city. Damn it if she was going to think about the party at Kaštel, about all the food she’d lovingly made, and all the fun they would have without her. Not while she was out some place so special.
A waiter set a glass of champagne in front of her and opened her menu before stepping away.
She dug her nails into her palms and skimmed the offerings before glancing up at Mason. “I’m so excited to try the lamb. They’re famous for it.”
“Delightful, lovely. But pick two dishes for every course. It would look rather odd if only you appear to be eating. And you can try some of everything.”
He smiled his rakish grin and the event at Kaštel receded into the back of her mind. After she ordered for them both, he asked about her childhood in Alaska and her time in San Francisco. He proved his impeccable manners by not once mentioning Kos, or Andre. It was her best first date ever.
As she drank coffee and tasted both a plum tart and a chocolate mousse, he leaned forward. “I’m looking forward to my dinner too.”
“Just no more truffles. I’m stuffed.” She patted her belly and smiled. Yes. It would do her good to have sex with him. Together, they could wipe away her memories of Kos.
He winked. “No more truffles. I have something else in mind.”
She shivered, anticipation creeping up her spine.
On the street, he clasped her elbow, pressing firmly with the pads of his fingers and watching her face. Her pulse stuttered, then found a faster rhythm. He ran his tongue over his teeth, then locked his elbow around hers, leading her back toward his house. He told her about San Francisco during Prohibition, and the walk flew by as her mind swirled with images from the past.
Outside his house, he turned her toward him and kissed her with his artful lips and practiced tongue. She allowed her body to relax into the pleasant sensations—just bodies, no emotions.
He broke the kiss. “There’s a surprise for you upstairs in my room.”
“Another one? This dress is gorgeous.”
“I’m glad you think so. That bodes well for the surprise.”
Could it be more clothing?
He took her arm again, leading her upstairs. In his bedroom was a slender woman wearing an identical dress. “Lena, this is Alyssa.”
Lena’s stomach felt funny. “Hello.” She tried to lift the corners of her mouth.
“Mason, she’s as pretty as you said.”
“Of course she is.” Mason’s smile had gone from rake to wolf since they climbed the stairs.
Alyssa was very pretty herself—of Vietnamese or maybe Thai descent—slim and shorter than Lena, with apple-sized breasts compared to Lena’s grapefruits.
“Lena, Alyssa is joining us for my dinner.”
“All right,” Lena whispered.
“Lena, honey,” the other woman said, “why don’t you sit here in this chair. Mason would like to watch us get to know each other.”
Mason gave a nod to confirm her request.
Lena sat, and Alyssa stood in front of her. “Relax, this will be fun. You know, with Mason and his fangs, it has to be.”
Lena took a deep breath. The other woman lifted the hem of her dress, and straddled Lena.
She kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear. “Just pretend, sweetie. He’ll make it good for you.”
Did she not know Mason could hear her? Over Alyssa’s shoulder, Mason stared at Lena with no expression.
Then Alyssa slipped her tongue in between Lena’s lips and began a slow kiss. It wasn’t unpleasant. The woman’s tongue was small and slender compared to the male tongues she’d had in her mouth. Her lips were somehow more gentle. But it wasn’t arousing either. She’d wondered if being with a woman would turn her on—that would be a no.
They kissed for a while, and Alyssa purred and wiggled, rubbing her breasts against Lena. Was she faking it, or really into this?
Mason cleared his throat. “Alyssa, let’s get you out of that dress.”
She stood up and slipped it off, revealing a sweet little body, completely bare between her legs. Lena kept a narrow patch of her golden curls—it seemed more wholesome somehow—and now she knew why.
“Lena, Alyssa would like it if you kissed her breasts. Enthusiastically.”
In other words, fake it, and that’s an order.
Lena leaned forward to lick one nipple, which perked to attention under her tongue. Again, she didn’t find the experience arousing, but she was a little curious to see how the other woman responded. Alyssa’s hips began to rock on Lena’s lap and she reached to cup her breasts through the dress. Mason watched them for a long time, although Lena didn’t look directly at him again. Looking somehow made it worse.
“You’re doing a good job turning her on, Lena. But I’m not sure she’s ready to get fucked. You tell me.”
Alyssa looked her in the eye, a subtle nod
of agreement. Lena ran her hand down the other woman’s hip and across her thigh to where she was spread open in Lena’s lap. The woman’s body felt different from her own. Lena must have grazed her clit because Alyssa sucked in a breath.
Then her finger found its way into the other woman’s core. “She’s very wet, Mason. You must be able to smell her.”
Alyssa’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly, she didn’t know anything about vampires. Lena shrugged.
“What else is she like, Lena. What does she feel like to you?”
She feels interesting, like I’m feeling my body from the other side.
“She’s tight, pulsing. She’s ready for you.”
“She’s going to have to wait. First, I’ll feed from you.”
Lena froze, couldn’t draw in a breath. If he bit her, she wouldn’t be able resist them. They could do whatever they wanted to her, and she might even like it.
“Take off your dress and come to me.”
Warily, Lena stood. What would happen if she said no? She would have to leave. She would be unemployed and out on the street looking for a restaurant job somewhere. It was impossible to live on those wages in the city—she’d already tried. She could go back to Kaštel until she found another job, ask for Kos’s help again—
No way. She’d rather have sex with Alyssa than go back to him, begging.
Come to think of it, didn’t he send her into this mess in the first place? Did he know Mason was like this?
“Let me help you with the zipper,” Mason said, forcing her decision.
His eyes dared her to say no. He reached around her, unzipping her dress, and she stood in her underwear until he unhooked her bra, and Alyssa slid her panties down.
Fully clothed, Mason sat on the chaise and waited for her to sit between his legs.
The same ritual as last night followed—he searched with fingers and tongue for where to bite her, covering her neck with his saliva so that she would heal no matter where he chose to sink his fangs. Again, he gave her no warning before he struck.
Once he was drawing on her blood, Alyssa climbed onto the chaise between Lena’s legs.
Oh God, that’s what they intended. She tried to close her knees, but Alyssa was already between them, and the other woman stroked her bite-sensitized skin—thighs and breasts and belly. And now, because of his bite, her touch was delicious. She kissed her mouth when the oral urges hit. And then, when Lena sunk into the deep, relaxing bliss, she felt the other woman’s lips on her now-wet core.
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