Turner lifted his head. “You fool. Where do you think I’ve been for the last twenty years?”
Chapter Thirteen
Hearts could break, Catch thought, because his was crushed. Facing Turner, looking at the man he’d ruined, Catch wished he’d chosen to hide outside Milford Hall and protect Turner from a distance. Catch might have thought he’d done the right thing twenty years ago, but Turner would never believe him. Even now, he couldn’t tell him everything—that he feared whoever had pulled the strings on the Vampire Council to keep Gabriel alive might still harbor plans to stage a coup, using Gabriel as his cover.
But he couldn’t just give up.
Catch sat on the couch next to Turner and put his hand on his arm. Turner shoved him away and rose to his feet.
“Please,” Catch whispered. “I’m sorry. There’s not been one day when I haven’t thought of you and wondered if I’d done the right thing or couldn’t have found a better way to protect you.”
Turner looked as if he was listening, but if he walked away, Catch would have to let him go. Didn’t mean he had to make it easy for the man he loved to turn his back on him.
“I need you,” Catch said. “I’ve missed you.”
Turner didn’t move. He kept his hands by his sides, fists clenched, staring at the floor. Catch got up. His mouth was dry, his knees shaking as he stood as close as he dared.
“Plenty of other idiots to fuck,” Turner muttered.
“I was hoping you’d want this idiot.”
Catch stroked Turner’s jaw and his cock swelled against his zipper. He didn’t dare look down to see if Turner was in the same state. He dropped his hand. How crazy had he been to wait all this time? What good had it really done anyone? Had the belief that his sacrifice kept Turner safe even been based on reality? How much of it had been because Catch thought he didn’t deserve Turner? Self-flagellation seemed to be Catch’s specialty.
Turner stared straight at him, his eyes inky pools. Oh God, I want him so much. Breathing was difficult. Living without love impossible. Turner was his mate as much as Matty. How could that be? Even as he told himself not to, Catch ran the pad of his thumb over Turner’s bottom lip. Turner didn’t move, he just stood there and Catch thought yet again he was the most perfect guy he’d ever seen. Turner was smart and sophisticated, and funny without meaning to be, and once upon a time, he’d wanted Catch with a passion that was almost frightening.
This wasn’t the right time to push Turner into sex. Catch had just confessed to manipulating him before they’d met, to cowardice in not approaching him sooner than this and to ruining his reputation. Sex was the last thing Catch should be thinking about. Turner didn’t want him but Catch needed to make Turner see how much he wanted Turner. If he thought too much about it, he was going to fuck things up. Thinking wasn’t Catch’s strong point, action was.
Catch leaned in, pressed his lips to Turner’s and kissed him. He slid his tongue along the fixed seam of Turner’s mouth, urging him to let him inside. Catch licked and teased and pressed, and Turner remained frozen like an icicle—except if he’d been an icicle at least their lips would have stuck together. Shit.
“One night,” Catch whispered. “Give me one night.”
It was more than he deserved, but he wanted to walk away with something to remember, a reminder of what he could have had because he’d have to leave Matty too. He wouldn’t come between her and Turner. That was the price Catch had to pay for not thinking things through years ago and just lurching into an action that kept them apart.
Catch slid his hands between Turner’s arms and his body and laid his palms on the firm, broad back he remembered so well. His fingers drifted higher until they reached Turner’s shoulders. He massaged stiff muscles, kneading with his thumbs as he sucked at Turner’s bottom lip, trying to persuade him to open.
He felt the moment Turner surrendered, the hitch in his throat, the tremor in his body and relief flooded Catch’s brain.
“Fuck you,” Turner muttered, and as his lips parted, Catch kissed him with everything he had, all the passion and love he’d held inside for twenty long, lonely years.
When Turner kissed him back, Catch’s heart swelled and he sagged. Turner’s tongue surged into his mouth while his hands squeezed Catch’s hips tight enough to hurt, tight enough to not let him move. There was a sense of desperation and panic in the way Turner held him, and Catch lifted his hands to thread his fingers into the vampire’s dark, silky hair and tugged him even closer.
One hard ridge collided with another and Catch moaned at the pressure against his erection. Whoever invented clothes needed shooting. Turner writhed against him, rubbing his cock alongside his, pressing Catch against the wall. Catch tended to be the one in charge, the one on top, but he felt Turner’s power, the way anger and lust raged side by side, and restrained his alpha.
Turner removed every one of Catch’s weapons and Catch let him. Something he’d never done before. He didn’t like anyone handling his knives. Rough hands hauled Catch’s t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Turner pressed his face to Catch’s shoulder, his teeth rasping along his collar bone while Catch’s fingers trembled on Turner’s back. He struggled to keep his eyes open. He wanted to miss nothing. He wanted to see the way Turner looked as he touched him, licked him, fucked him.
Catch reached for the buttons of Turner’s shirt and began to work them open, but Turner knocked his hand aside and dropped his fingers to Catch’s pants. Moments later, Catch was naked and Turner stood, still clothed, staring at him.
“I want—” Catch began.
“I don’t care what you want.”
But Catch got part of what he wanted anyway when Turner unsnapped and unzipped his pants and his cock jutted out. No underwear? Turner had never—then the thought was lost as Catch fell under the spell of Turner’s excitement, the air heavy with pheromones, thick with lust. As Catch slid a hand down to his aching balls, needing to pull on them and stave off the inevitable, Turner grabbed his wrists and hoisted them above his head. He stared at Turner’s thick cock bobbing between them, the dark red head so close to touching its twin. Catch’s shaft was swollen and glistening with pre-cum, his balls drawn up tight and cradling the base. He ached with need.
Turner spun him around and pressed him up against the wall, still keeping his hands over his head. They’d never fucked like this before. Catch swallowed hard. This was punishment not desire. His knees shook when Turner kicked his feet apart.
“Lube?” Turner asked in a gruff voice, and Catch sighed. At least pain wasn’t on the menu.
“Jacket pocket. On the chair.”
“Don’t move.”
Catch pressed his face into the wallpaper, fists clenched above his head, heart pounding. When Turner’s wet tongue licked between his shoulder blades, Catch’s hips bucked into the wall.
“Oh God,” Catch moaned.
He jerked and squirmed as Turner licked a wet path down his spine, incapable of preventing his hips from striking the wall. When the tongue moved away, Catch groaned but registered Turner was stripping. Pants and shirt hit the floor and then he was back, his face against Catch’s lower spine, his hands holding his hips, his tongue—oh fuck, his tongue—sliding down the crease of his butt until teeth gently nipped the strip of skin at the back of his balls. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
Catch’s breathing grew frantic. His control began to falter, his alpha need to throw Turner on the floor and fuck him senseless starting to gain sway. Turner’s shoulders forced Catch’s splayed legs even farther apart, and Catch’s hips banged against the wall as a long, hot tongue rimmed the entrance to his body. It was a miracle he didn’t come, a miracle his legs kept him upright. His fingernails sank into the wallpaper and ripped it. Oh crap.
“Christ.” Catch gasped and writhed, fucking the wall as Turner teased and circled and pressed.
When Turner’s tongue slid inside his anus, Catch’s legs gave way. Only the fact Turner was pressed up tight again
st him stopped him from falling. His chest tightened and his head fogged as he struggled to breathe. He didn’t have that useful vampire trait of not needing air. Catch needed oxygen and he wasn’t getting enough. His blood had found a more interesting place than his head and every drop rushed to his groin. His cock felt heavy and tight enough to burst. Every touch, each brush against the flocked wallpaper was a mixture of agony and ecstasy. He hurt and he loved it.
Turner’s tongue thrust deeper, harder, faster until Catch was almost crying from the sheer, wicked delight of it. Just as he thought he was going to come, Turner pulled away and Catch sighed with relief. Then the squirt of cold lube sliding down the crease of his butt sent his hips rocking again. Turner pressed up against him and fucked him with his finger, his mouth tightening on Catch’s shoulder. Would he bite? Catch had never been bitten by a vamp since he’d been strong enough to resist, but if Turner wanted to, he’d let him. He’d let him do anything.
One finger became two and Catch flinched at the burn as Turner slid both digits into him and twisted as he thrust, spreading him, making him ready for something much thicker and longer. Sharp teeth pressed harder against his shoulder, and something that sounded too much like a whimper escaped from Catch’s mouth. Turner’s fingers speared deep, the tip of one nudged his prostate, and then Catch did whimper.
“Oh God. Please,” Catch gasped. “I need you to fuck me.”
Turner withdrew his fingers and slid the fat head of his cock up and down the crease of Catch’s backside until they were both slick with moisture, lube dripping off his balls and down his thighs. When Turner paused with his shaft pressed against the entrance to Catch’s body, Catch held his breath and pushed down.
He cried out as Turner’s cock popped through the tight ring of muscle and powered inside him. Pain morphed fast to pleasure as the pressure changed from sharp to sweet. Turner kept pushing, shoving inside him until their hot and sticky bodies were plastered together.
“I hope that’s all of you,” Catch muttered, and wished Turner would say something.
His response to Catch’s comment was to change the angle of his hips and buck hard.
“Fuck, fuck.” Catch shook with the need to come. He wanted to grab his cock. A couple of yanks and it would all be over.
Then Turner began to move more purposefully, settling into a rhythmic thrust that shoved Catch’s sweat-slicked body up against the wall, exciting his cock into a greater frenzy. On and on, harder and harder, faster and faster until Catch stopped trying to think, stopped all conscious action and let go. He was Turner’s to do with as he wished. Sharp teeth sank into the side of Catch’s neck, piercing his skin, Turner’s hand reached to grab Catch’s cock, and for a moment time stopped. In a bone-jarring, blood-freezing instant, Catch’s heart stopped beating.
He felt it coming—release, completion, satisfaction—darkness racing toward him as Turner sucked life from his veins and orgasm rushed through their bodies. Turner erupted inside him with a groan as Catch sprayed bout after bout of cum onto the wallpaper.
* * * * *
When they’d closed her out of the room, Matty had swallowed against the lump in her throat. The guys had things to sort out and she understood that. She looked at the envelope she still clutched, printed with her name and this address, and gulped. Lump still there. Was this going to explain what had happened to her? Whoever sent it thought she was alive and lived here, so that had to mean something.
She wanted to open it, but not on her own. Matty didn’t want Turner claiming she’d typed it herself, but that wasn’t the only reason. She was scared of what it might say. Matty stuffed the letter in her pocket. She’d waited all these months; she could wait until the guys stopped shouting at each other.
Matty went into the library so she couldn’t hear them. Would Turner mind if she borrowed one of his books? He had so many, he probably wouldn’t notice. Matty ran her fingers along the spines. Supertankers Handbook. Well, didn’t that sound riveting? Matty pulled it out, flipped it open and read. As memory acquaints us with the belief in object, self and continuance… What did that have to do with big ships?
She turned to the inside cover of the book. A study of Turing’s natural philosophy with respect to vampiric beliefs. Huh? Had the covers got muddled up? Had she muddled them up? Matty chose a shelf at random and checked each book.
Several minutes later she knew it wasn’t her who’d done this. Turner had. He was obviously hiding an interest in vampires. What a weirdo. This went a long way beyond liking stories about bloodsuckers. He was obsessed with them. Was that why he slept all day? He thought he was a vampire? Matty pulled out the box that looked like a book. The Search for Order. The three books were still in there.
She had a bad thought. These had to be special to Turner. If this box wasn’t to hide them, it was at least to protect them. Matty opened one. She hadn’t noticed the title before. The Truth. She checked the others. The Way. The Light. She definitely didn’t recognize the language on the left, but the English on the right was clear enough. Seemed like some sort of diary. Could she make Turner let her stay? If she hid the books to persuade him? Matty crept into the hall and tiptoed over to the section of wall between the two rooms. A slide of her fingers under the dado rail and a section opened underneath. She crawled inside.
The guys were quiet now. Not talking, though Matty could hear—something. An eye to the peephole and her dreams collapsed again. The two of them were in each other’s arms. Naked. She pressed her lips together, put her hands over her eyes and silently dissolved.
No one wanted her.
The pain in her chest was different this time because she knew where it had come from. They didn’t need her because they had each other. Her world shrank. She was on her own again. She dropped the books, crawled out and pressed the hidden door back into place. There didn’t seem much point waiting to see what it said in the letter. Matty pulled it from her pocket and ripped it open.
As she read, the last remnants of hope shattered at her feet. Turner’s lawyers had sent her an eviction notice. Matty didn’t bother to read the details. It didn’t matter what the letter said. Turner didn’t want her and now he’d made it official. The codicil in the contract was unlikely to stand up in a court of law, and since she couldn’t actually stand up in a court of law to defend herself, Matty knew it was over. She’d failed to make Turner want her or even need her. She was okay to fuck but that was all. Disappointment welled in her throat.
When he’d held her hand a little while ago, she’d allowed herself to believe that she might have gotten through to him, but she saw now it had been for show, something to annoy Catch. Turner had been trying to make him jealous. Catch was—well, Catch was a player, a flirt, a dangerous guy—the sort every woman fell for and no woman could keep. He’d used her too.
Matty slipped out of the house. Maybe it was time to look for a long, white tunnel.
She stomped past the partially erected fairground rides and swallowed her disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy them. Her last happy memory of her parents had been at Winterval, her mum screaming when her dad had taken her on some whirl-you-around, make-you-sick, don’t-ever-make-me-do-that-again ride. Two weeks later, her mum was dead.
Matty slowed down and found herself in front of the Ghost Train. A burst of laughter escaped her lips. Was that her long white tunnel? Then she started to cry. Turner and Catch. Catch and Turner. Matty nowhere in sight. They looked hot and sexy and…right.
She wiped her sleeve across her eyes and speeded up, kept going until she reached the river that marked the edge of the property line. Matty climbed up to sit on the parapet of the old bridge and looked down at the dark water rushing below. She wasn’t going to jump. Too cold, too far, and if she was already dead, what was the point? Her head bubbled with images of Catch and Turner in each other’s arms, and all she could think was how she wished she was there with them and that they’d wanted her there too.
Not goi
ng to happen. Turner wanted her gone. The plan to blackmail him over the books was idiotic. How was that going to make him like her? So, what was she going to do? The farther she got from Milford, the more unsettled she became. Something tied her to this place. She was scared of leaving for good. Matty sighed. She’d think of something, and she might as well do that in comfort, not where she was cold and miserable.
As Matty turned to climb down, a stone shifted under her foot and she wobbled. Teetering in one of those cartoon flail-in-the-air moments, she scrabbled at the parapet and dislodged a chunk of rock. Matty followed it into the river with a loud scream.
The shock of hitting the water stunned her and even before she bobbed to the surface, she felt herself swirled downstream in a torrent swollen by weeks of heavy rain high on the moors. Matty fought to keep her head above water and tried to swim for the bank until she slammed up against something that knocked the remaining breath from her lungs. She hadn’t even seen the fallen tree in the dark.
Matty hadn’t the strength to climb onto it. Thick branches stopped her moving toward the bank and the other way led out into the river. All the time, the water tried to pull her down under the tree. She was stuck.
And cold.
And scared.
* * * * *
It amused Gabriel to think of how many ways he could inflict pain without killing Dava. They lay naked on his bed, though she still wore her new red high heels, and Gabriel stared at her slim neck, trying to ignore her incessant chattering. Twenty years in solitary confinement had left him comfortable with silence. It didn’t seem to have had the same effect on her.
“That’ll be him,” she said.
Gabriel tuned back in. “Who?”
“I told you. Pete, the guy who showed me how to use the computer.”
“The mortal you’ve fucked and sucked for the last week.”
Dava reached for his cock. “Jealous?”
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