“Shhh . . . ” She stroked a soothing hand down his back. “Just love me . . . Just love me.”
Broken, he whispered, “I already do. I always have. Even when I had no idea who you were, that you waited, I loved you then.”
“Show me, then.” She nipped at his lower lip, then cupped his face between her hands, staring at him. “Show me now . . . just love me. Give me now, and we’ll sort out the rest later.”
Not enough . . .
But he wasn’t strong enough to pull away, wasn’t strong enough to deny either of them. As she kissed him, he wrapped his arms tight around her, rocking inside until the pleasure burned too hot, too bright. As she begged and pleaded and whimpered beneath him, he made love to her and when she climaxed with a cry, he was with her.
IT could have been hours later. It could have been minutes.
He lay with his head pillowed between her breasts while she combed a hand through his hair.
“I’ve wanted this,” she murmured.
Glancing up at her, Dominic asked, “What?”
“This.” A smile curled her lips and she shrugged. “Just this. To be with you, like this, again. Every day of my life, I wanted this.”
“Then take it.” He nuzzled her belly, breathing in the scent of her skin. She smelled of woman. She smelled of sex. She smelled of him. He nipped the soft skin. His fangs throbbed in their sheaths and he shuddered as the need to bite her, mark her, crashed through him. “Come . . . ”
Her body stiffened.
Dominic tensed as he caught the edgy scent of fear. Even in dreams, he felt it, sensed it. Rolling off her, he crouched on the bed, waiting. “What?” he asked quietly. “What is it?”
He heard nothing but the racing of her heart, smelled nothing but her fear. Yet he knew something was wrong.
“No.” Her eyes closed, her face crumpling.
Dominic swore and reached for her, drawing her against him protectively. “What is wrong, baby?”
“I don’t want to wake,” she whispered. She opened her soft blue eyes and stared at him, her gaze glittering with tears. “I don’t want to leave here . . . leave you.”
“You’re not leaving me.” Shaking his head, he brushed her tangled hair back from her face and said, “Wake up . . . and come to me. Stop hiding . . . stop . . . ”
Even as he said it, she was fading.
In the span of one heartbeat, she was gone.
CHAPTER 17
MORGAN came awake with a jerk.
For a split second, she didn’t remember anything . . . save her sister and the fact that she’d screwed up royally.
Then she realized the ceiling overhead wasn’t her ceiling and the bed beneath her wasn’t really a bed. It was a cot, hard and narrow and unyielding.
Jackknifing into a sitting position, she stared at the dim room while her heart raced in her throat.
Filtered sconces on the wall provided the only light and it wasn’t much, either. But she could see well enough, and as she came off the bed, she caught sight of one thing that made her heart stutter.
But whether it was fear, or something else, she didn’t know.
It was him.
Blood rushed to her cheeks as memories from her dreams slammed into her.
She didn’t remember much of those dreams, just his mouth on her, his hands all over her body . . . and she could remember doing the same to him. Touching him, stroking him, tasting him.
Shoving her hair back from her face, she looked around the narrow, boxlike room and tried to figure out how they’d gotten in there. She remembered arguing with him—Dominic—his name was Dominic. She needed to leave, find Jazzy. He hadn’t wanted her to go.
Then . . . what?
Her head began to pound and she sank back down on the edge of the cot, cradling it between her hands.
I know you’re afraid, he’d told her. Then he’d said he wouldn’t hurt her.
Because . . . what . . .
The pounding in her head increased and her breath caught at the pain.
I’ve spent too long waiting for you . . .
Too long.
In her heart, she felt something clench.
Her breath froze. She started to rock unconsciously, trying to remember something more. Anything more. But there was just darkness. Followed by dreams. Crazy dreams. Hot and wicked dreams.
Pressing her hands to her flushed face, she swallowed. Her mouth was dry, painfully so, and her heart raced. Against the fabric of her bra, her nipples were hard, pressing into the material. It lightly abraded them, just one more little edge of arousal gathering inside.
“I need a damn drink,” she muttered.
And a cold shower.
Preferably away from the very, very confusing man stretched out on the floor . . . right in front of the door.
The only door in the tiny little room.
Shoving off the cot, she made her way around the edge of the room, tried to decide if she could slip outside without him waking.
He hadn’t moved an inch. A few feet away she froze, staring at his still body.
And she did mean still—hell, it didn’t even look like he was breathing.
Squinting her eyes, she stared at his chest, waiting to see it rise. Fall.
Nothing.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Don’t be dead.”
Sidling closer, she knelt down, brushed her fingers against his wrist.
His skin was cool. Too cool.
No. No. No.
It was an endless refrain in her head and tears burned her eyes. Her heart screamed in denial.
Swallowing, she closed her hand around his wrist, her fingers seeking the spot on the inside. Pulse . . . needed to check for a pulse . . .
And then, in the blink of an eye, her pulse was racing.
Morgan yelped out in shock as he moved. One moment, he was as still as death, and the next . . . she was stretched out flat under him and the weight of his body crushed hers into the floor.
Shaken, she stared at him.
Time stretched out.
She was acutely aware of him, that lean, strong body, so unbelievably strong and fast. And cool. Too damn cool, but it did seem to warm against hers.
There was also the odd, unnerving little fact that he didn’t seem to be breathing . . .
But even as she thought that, his nostrils flared and she heard him inhale.
His lashes drooped over his eyes and he lowered his head, nuzzling her neck. “You smell so good,” he whispered, his voice rough and low, drowsy. His tongue touched her skin. “You taste good, too.” He lifted his head, watching her with sleepy eyes.
“Do I?” she asked. She blushed feeling like a fool.
All he did was smile and lower his head back to her neck, taking a deep breath . . . like he was just breathing her in. “Yeah. Real damn good.” He nuzzled her neck.
She cupped the back of his head and arched her neck, baring it for him.
His body stiffened.
Something hot and potent, a power so strong it was nearly tangible, rolled through the room.
Morgan gasped as heat and fear coiled inside her. Clutching at him, she burrowed against him. Closer. She needed to be closer.
And for about two seconds, she was. His hand tangled in her hair and she shuddered as she felt the press of his teeth against her neck.
Then, quicker than she could follow, he was gone.
She blinked and sat up, staring at him as he stood on the far side of the room. Not that he was terribly far away in the coffin of a room. The only way he could have gotten any more distance between them would be if he had started to climb the walls.
“What?” she asked, feeling more than a little bewildered.
At him.
At herself. What in the hell was she doing?
He shook his head. “I need a few minutes.”
“Ahhh . . . okay.”
His gaze flicked past her, lingered on the door. He edged around t
he room, keeping a careful distance between them. “Would you excuse me? I need to open the door.”
“Then open it already,” she snapped defensively. Hell, he was acting like he’d woken up to find her pawing him. Against his will.
Which was just plain stupid, because she knew he wanted her.
She could feel the edge of his hunger, and it was going to drive her mad.
She gestured to the door, which stood a foot off to her side. “By all means, open the damn door.”
Something dark flashed through his eyes, something that sent a shiver down her spine. “Back away from it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get the fuck away from the door, because if I get too close to you right now, I’m going to spend the next thirty minutes fucking you.”
Morgan’s mouth went dry. Her knees threatened to buckle. A river of heat ran through her lower body, need cramping in her belly. “I . . . ah . . . ”
She didn’t think she wanted to move.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. Then, abruptly, he turned away. His shoulders rose and fell as he took one deep, slow breath, followed by another. “Morgan, I need a few minutes, okay? Just move away from the door, please—I’m going to unlock it and let you out. Just don’t try to leave. I need a few minutes, then we’ll . . . shit. We’ll talk. Okay? I just need to . . . clear my head, you don’t need to be that close to me. I’ll just make things worse.”
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she retreated, moving away from the door. Folding her arms around her middle, she stared at the wall and tried to understand what in the hell was happening. Inside her heart. Inside her head.
He’d been wrong.
Being close to him didn’t make things worse.
Not being close to him did that.
THE moment she slipped out of the room, he locked the door again and stormed over to the mini fridge. He deactivated the locks and grabbed a pack of bagged blood. He hated the stuff, but right now, he had no choice.
The hunger was tearing into him, and although he could control his actions, he doubted he could control his body’s reactions. Namely the fangs, the eyes. Since his control was already shot around her, he had to manage the blood hunger better.
He used his fangs to pierce the bag and drained it. The taste of it, flat, nearly bitter, lay on the back of his tongue, and he tried not to think about how Nessa would taste. Tried not to wonder if he’d ever have a chance to find out.
It took less than two minutes, and he listened to her through the walls the entire time. Even if he could stand the thought of not having her close, it wasn’t safe—
As that thought drifted through his mind, he felt it.
He jerked his head, eyes narrowed as he stared off into the distance.
What was that . . .
It wasn’t danger, or at least not anything he could recognize as danger. It was . . . odd.
Son of a bitch.
It took him less than thirty seconds to figure out just what he was feeling.
Or rather . . . what he wasn’t.
He’d only sensed something like this once, but it hadn’t been that long ago. It hadn’t even been a few days.
Ana Morell . . . no. Lawson. Ana Lawson. Ana, with the very strange gift. It had to be her.
He hoped.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
He threw the empty blood bag on the bed and left the room, leaving the door unlocked.
He found Morgan in the living room, pale and shaken. She had a pinched look to her eyes, her soft mouth. With her arms crossed over her middle, she huddled against the wall, watching him as he drew near.
“I feel something really weird,” she said softly.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and murmured, “I know. I feel it, too.”
“How?” She swallowed, then shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. We need to leave. Now. Right now.”
Dominic cocked a brow. “We don’t need to leave. Relax. I think I know what’s going on.”
“What?” she demanded.
“Too complicated to explain, but don’t worry, okay?” Dominic shrugged restlessly and cocked his head, straining to hear something outside the house.
But his ears weren’t cooperating and it wasn’t until the car turned onto their street that he even heard it.
“Don’t worry,” she muttered as she followed him through the house. “Don’t worry, he tells me.”
Dominic waited on the dark porch, peering out into the night. Sure enough, a Mustang convertible shortly turned into their driveway. As before, his ears and his senses might not be working as well as he’d like, but he could see just fine.
Fine enough to see that it was only Ana and the kid with her—her little brother. A little brother that stood damn near half a head taller than her, too, Dominic noticed as Brad climbed out of the car and came to stand by Ana, one hand resting protectively on her shoulder.
Duke wasn’t there, and neither was Jazzy.
Brad mounted the steps, Ana following close behind. Brad’s purple blue eyes moved from him to the woman standing just a few feet behind him, then back to Dominic’s. “Guess you found who you were looking for.”
“Yeah. Where are Duke and . . . his friend?”
Brad smiled. “Headed to Virginia. Figure that’s a good place for the friend to be.”
Yeah. Excelsior was about the best place imaginable for Jazzy, Dominic figured. “Okay. So . . . why are you here?” he asked, cocking a brow at Brad. The boy’s only response was to tap his temple.
Dominic scowled. He didn’t need Brad to explain in any more detail. The kid was a psychic. He felt a need to be here, so that’s where he was going to be. It also explained how they were here—the safe houses weren’t exactly advertised, but a kid like Brad wouldn’t need a map.
According to the news Dominic had heard through the grapevine, Brad had been approached by the Council eight months earlier. The kid had spent much of the past few months completing the initial, intense training—rumor was it made boot camp look like something designed for sissies.
Brad had passed with flying colors, despite the fact that he was still mortal—more or less—and physically weaker than many of the other Hunters.
Shifting his gaze to Ana, he said, “What about you?”
She shrugged and lifted her hands. “Ask him.” She pointed to her brother.
Something rippled through the air, far off, at the very edge of Dominic’s senses. Behind him, he heard Nessa’s soft intake of breath. Shifting, he turned so he could see her, as well as keep an eye on Brad and Ana.
“It’s okay . . . Morgan,” he said, forcing the name out of his mouth.
It left a bad taste on his tongue, and he was surprised as hell she hadn’t felt the lie. Calling her Morgan—it was nothing but a lie. To him. For him. He saw the surprise flicker across Ana’s face as he spoke.
She’d recognized Nessa. He just hoped she didn’t go asking questions right now, because there was no way he could explain anything just yet. Hell, maybe never. How could he explain what he didn’t understand?
“She’s doing this.” His witch stood there, glaring at Ana with distrust in her eyes.
Ana swallowed. Dominic sensed the fear inside her, but she shoved it aside and angled her chin up. “Yes, I am.”
“Quit it. It’s not . . . It’s not safe,” she said, shaking her head.
“I have to.” Then she cocked her head, peering at Nessa with narrowed eyes. Her eyes shifted to a point past Nessa’s shoulder, as though she was looking at somebody. Something.
Her gaze was so intense that Dominic found himself doing the same thing, but he saw nothing . . . nothing but the night sky and the darkness of the ocean.
Brad rested a hand on his sister’s shoulder, squeezed. She turned her head, staring at him.
Unspoken communication always left Dominic feeling tight, edgy. They said nothing, nothing aloud, anyway, but Dominic knew for damn sure they
were talking.
Psychics. He shoved a hand through his hair and looked away from them. His skin crawled and now he understood why psychics sometimes left other non-humans feeling more than a little on edge.
There was something downright spooky about that kid, about the unspoken conversation that passed between him and his sister.
“Dominic?”
He looked up and met Nessa’s summery blue eyes. Giving her a smile, he said, “They’re okay. They aren’t here to hurt you.”
She shook her head. “That’s not it. There’s . . . It’s more than that. Something feels wrong.” Her mouth twisted in a spasm and she reached up, rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know. Man, my head is killing me.”
“You’re fighting it. Your head hurts because you’re fighting too hard.”
It was Ana’s voice, quiet, soft, shaking just a little.
Nessa frowned and looked at the other woman. “Fighting what?” she demanded sourly.
Ana licked her lips and shrugged.
“Yourself.” She glanced away, staring out at the ocean. “I . . . uh . . . well, I can see . . .”
“We’re psychic.” Brad moved, putting his body between Ana and Nessa. “We hear ‘whispers,’ both of us. And there’s just a crazy amount of whispers coming from your head.”
Dominic scowled. That wasn’t entirely true . . . just the faintest bit of lie colored Brad’s words. Catching Brad’s gaze, he narrowed his eyes.
The young man returned his stare levelly.
Then, clear as day, Brad fucking spoke inside Dominic’s head. Not a good idea to go into any more detail than that right now.
Dominic wanted to know why the hell not.
You’ll just have to trust me. Then he looked away and met his sister’s gaze.
Trust him. Dominic swore and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “What in the hell is going on?” he muttered.
He lifted his head and slanted a look at Ana. “What do you call your gift?”
“Not much of a gift.” She shrugged and tucked her hands into her pockets. “It’s called ‘blocking.’ Not much more than me playing psychic chameleon. I don’t have the instincts of a fighter and my instinct is to withdraw, hide away. When I sense something threatening, I ‘block’ and it makes it seem like I’m just a typical human, no psychic skill whatsoever. Makes it harder for non-mortals to sense me. But I can’t limit my range, and when I’m blocking, everything around me is blocked as well. So nobody can really sense me, but they can’t sense others, either.”
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