He cupped her cheek and stared down at her for long silent moments.
She felt her resolve dissolving. He reached for the top button of his shirt and slipped it through the hole. Then the next and the next. His slow, steady work revealed the broad, muscled chest she’d come to memorize. She was helpless to do anything but stare at the perfection before her.
Against her better judgment, she slid her palms up the smooth plain of his stomach and over his pecs. He sucked in a breath and covered her hands with his. She closed her eyes, relishing the warmth that soaked into her skin.
“Drink.” The word was simple. As much a demand as desperation. And undeniably erotic.
The vein at his neck pulsed, calling to her. Begging for her fangs. Her breathing shallowed and lust zinged through her bloodstream.
What would he taste like?
She’d never taken blood from a werewolf before. Nor anyone who knew her past. Could his blood contain memories of her, of her past self? Could she deny herself that? Could she fight the hunger?
He tipped his head to the side, offering himself to her. The simple gesture echoed through her. He really was a nice guy. A descent guy. A guy she could have loved…
And with that simple gesture, the acceptance and hope written on his face, she lost her fight.
Leaning forward, she kissed her way up his chest and then eased up onto her tip-toes. Snaking an arm around his broad shoulders, she licked a trail up to his neck. His pulse jumped beneath her tongue. She moaned. He smelled so good. Masculine, earthy, sexy.
They shared a breath as anticipation rippled through her. Taste. Her fangs grazed his skin and a sigh whispered through his lips. His hands settled on her hips, holding her close, encouraging her.
All of the seconds that they’d been together had been leading up to this moment. She was sure of it. Living and dying, past and present were meeting in this singular point in time. And somehow she knew that after she’d taken his blood, absorbed his memories, her life would never be the same again.
Cayenne sank her fangs into his flesh and his blood ran over her tongue.
Ecstasy.
She closed her eyes and moaned against him.
Delicious. His fingers flexed into her skin. White hot lust rushed through her, tightening her breasts, setting her skin on fire, making her most feminine places contract with desire.
And then, all at once, his memories assailed her. Memories of her as a girl, ripe in the threshold of womanhood. Her hair, her eyes, so familiar. So similar to her own. And yet, so different. Her hair had a curl to it, it bounced as she moved. Her eyes were young and hopeful, not jaded with the ways of the world. Not knowledgeable in the ways of men.
And her smile. Wide. Genuinely happy.
She hadn’t felt that sort of happiness…ever.
One by one, Laurent’s past days filled her mind. Filled her heart. He really had loved her. Completely. Hopelessly. He’d been ridiculed for his love.
Pain consumed her. His pain. Pain from the wounds inflicted by others. Pain from her disappearance. The pain of being alone without the one he loved.
Too much. It was too much.
He couldn’t still love her, not like that. Not so…
She removed her fangs and licked away the remaining drops of blood.
“I do, you know,” he whispered, finally breaking through her mental barrier. It should have surprised her. She’d worked hard to protect herself. But being in his arms, tasting him, her guard was down.
Worse than that, the protective shell she’d insulated herself with was completely shattered.
Chapter Eleven
Cayenne thumbed the blade of her sword, testing the sharpness. Not sharp enough. She wiped the blade with a cloth, enjoying the way the gleaming silver caught the light.
Night had fallen over the lovely estate, shrouding it in inky darkness. The large armory provided her with solace and quiet in the middle of the night. The wolves had done well with the old parlor, turning it into a treasure of weapons and fitness equipment while still respecting the architecture.
She liked that they hadn’t left the interior of their home with the stuffy relics from ages past. Without ornate furnishings covered in knickknacks she could enjoy the house in her original Greek Revival beauty.
It wasn’t her shift to be on watch, but she hadn’t been able to sleep either. She’d left Laurent’s bed to prepare for the battle she felt coming. It was only a matter of time.
Cayenne ran the sharpening stone over the blade, careful to keep the angle just so. Over and over, she repeated the action, honing the edge then switching to a higher grit stone. It was a movement she could do in her sleep, drilled into her many years ago by the Madame.
The Madame’s eerie black eyes and alabaster skin were fresh in Cayenne’s mind. Ironic that she could remember the devil who’d trained her to kill but she could not remember her past self. Her family. The man she’d loved.
She was certain of it now. Laurent wasn’t lying to save his skin. He wasn’t a fabulous actor with an incredible story. He spoke the truth. His memories of her were real. And potent. No wonder he’d been heartbroken, they’d been very much in love. Even against the odds.
There was so much evidence against Emil. More than the feeling she’d always felt in her gut. To his displeasure she’d been immune from him since the start. At least, what she remembered as the start. Even as he’d fed her the story of how he’d saved her from death, given her a new life, she hadn’t felt indebted to him. Never that.
She’d felt his greed. The poison inside him. The lust seeping from his pores. Even after all this time he followed her around the globe, showing up unexpectedly. And now that she’d been reunited with Laurent… she cupped the sand paper in her hand and slid it down the blade. Emil would be out for blood. It was only a matter of time before he tracked her.
He must have felt the change in her. The pleasure she’d felt when Laurent touched her. She hadn’t been the same since he’d woken up chained to her bed, calling her Violet.
She gazed out at the ancient Oak trees bathed in moonlight. Deep down she’d known this day was coming, almost from that first moment she’d woken in Emil’s arms. The only way to get away from him, truly away from him, was end it, end him, once and for all, with her own blade.
Someone knocked on the door and she swiveled to see André standing in the doorway. “Am I interrupting?”
She shook her head.
He strode into the room, his movements graceful and so similar to Laurent’s. What had this family done to win the gene-pool-lottery? All of them, incredibly handsome, oozing masculinity and graceful too. Wasn’t there a law against that?
“Laurent says you studied in Asia,” he said, nodding toward the blade in her hands.
“Mongolia. With Madame.” Where Cayenne had once felt pride at that, of who’d trained her, now she felt little more than irritation at her naivety. She’d been so distraught after Jean-Claude’s death, so shattered from the werewolf attack that almost left her dead, Madame’s school had seemed the perfect solution. Learn how to fight. How to kill. How to defend herself. If only she’d been more properly trained, Jean-Claude might not be dead.
But she’d stopped mourning his loss ages ago.
“Ya know you can leave at any time.” His voice was level, unjudgemental. The only Deveraux other than Laurent to not look at her with censure in his eyes. He stepped to a glass walled cabinet and opened the doors.
“I know.”
He pulled out a sword, not that different from her own. “I got this in battle. Little Japanese man. He never had a chance.” There was sorrow in his eyes and regret in his voice. “A sword is no match for a bullet,” he added grimly.
“Depends on who’s holding the sword,” she said.
He smiled and she wondered how in the world he was not mated. Had she not been…with…Laurent she could have easily fallen under André’s spell.
“Well said my vampire friend.”
He removed the sheath from his sword and studied the blade.
She cocked her head to the side and watched him. “Friend?” she asked cautiously.
His gaze met hers. She felt the intensity of his deep brown eyes all the way to her core. “You are not my enemy, are you?”
Perhaps she had been a week ago. “No. I’m not your enemy.”
He nodded once. It was as if his mind were made up and he was pleased with the outcome. Somehow she felt outmaneuvered; it was a very rare and uncomfortable feeling. One she tried to avoid at all costs.
“So why do you stay?” he asked, tightening his grip on the hilt.
“Laurent is a good man.”
“I agree.”
“He doesn’t deserve to die.”
“No, he doesn’t.” He made a few practice swings. “Whattya, say Cayenne. Want to see if this old wolf still knows his way around a sword?”
She chuckled softly and stood. “I’ll go easy on you.”
As she settled into her en-guarde stance and lifted her sword above her head, an eerie calm passed through her. It was a ballsy move, holding her sword up when she should have held it down to protect herself. Adrenaline surged through her system making her feel alive. Her muscles tightened, ready for battle.
André took a step toward her. Her reflexes didn’t fail her. She parried left, blocking his blade.
She kept her movements slow to match his, ensuring each of her movements was precise and correctly executed. He stepped to the right and again, she mirrored the step, watching him closely, detecting any weakness.
He advanced again with a thrust. She parried left again. He retreated, then slashed. Metal clanged against metal.
“So why,” he began, parrying left, then right. “Do you think Laurent is in danger?”
“Emil,” she said, blocking his movement. “He most likely saw us escape together.”
André lunged, his blade coming down hard. Cayenne stepped right, using all her strength to fend off the attack. Her blade hovered, parallel to the floor. Then with the speed of her kind, she whirled right, tucking her sword as she spun to the far side of the room.
“Nice move.”
“They’ll move fast too. The others. If they follow us.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“Emil is a wild card.”
André waved her forward. This time, Cayenne attacked. He blocked her skillfully. Quickly. But not quickly enough. Vampires were fast. And strong.
Werewolves were all brute force. She was agile, nimbly stepping right, delivering a blow with the flat of her blade across his back. He staggered forward.
Balance regained, he turned toward her.
“Sometimes I’ve gone a whole decade without seeing or hearing from him. He shows up randomly. Uninvited.”
He lunged again. Paried left. Right. Swept his blade through the air to cut her off at the knees. She leapt upwards, landing on a long credenza. He raised his sword. She cart-wheeled through the air, landing behind him. Holding the tip of her blade to the center of his back, she sucked in a breath.
“Emil may not show himself for weeks. Months. Or he may come tonight. I do my best to block him out.”
“Does that go for Laurent too?”
“I didn’t know about him.”
“Now that you do?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Laurent isn’t my concern right now. Emil is. The only way I’ll ever be free of him, of this life, is if I take his.”
André faked left, stabbing his blade into the wooden floor while spinning right. He caught her around the middle. They hit the floor with a thud. Her sword skittered away and her breath whooshed from her lungs as her skull connected with the floor.
“Good move,” she whispered. Damn that hurt.
“Why don’t you go after him?”
“Laurent’s right. Home court advantage is best.”
“For Laurent maybe.”
“I’m learning my way around.”
He shoved away from her, clasping her right hand as he went and pulled her to her feet. Without pausing he spun right and retrieved his sword.
Never let go of your sword. Madame’s words echoed through her mind. Never let down your guard.
Cayenne performed a back-handspring to recover her weapon. André charged her. Their swords came together with a clang. Tiny fragments of metal sheared off like sparks.
She held the hilt with one hand, the back of the blade with the other, holding off his sword, resisting his strength. He leaned closer, using his body weight.
“You love him.”
“I—I believe I did. Once upon a time…”
“I think you still do. Why else would you be here? When surely a woman of your talent could track and dispatch Emil by yourself?”
With that, he backed away, his gaze locked with hers. She stood there, speechless. In love with Laurent? The idea was-- She’d known him for five days.
Okay, two hundred years or so, if she were being technical.
André sheathed his sword and put it back in the display case.
She felt steamrolled. Set-up. He’d been testing her. Not just her skills as a fighter, but her feelings toward his cousin. Deep down, she had to admire that about him. Killing two birds with one well aimed stone.
Just before he exited the room he stopped and glanced at her. “It’s nice to have a woman in the house who knows her way around a sword.”
The moment after he stepped from the room, Laurent strode in. She sheathed her sword, ready for a break. She’d finish sharpening her weapon tomorrow.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, pacing back and forth in front of her, his large hands hooked over lean hips.
“Think about what?”
“Tracking Emil on your own. We agreed this is the best place for us to be.”
“Who said anything about tracking Emil?” So he’d been listening to their discussion. She was finding her mate to be rather jealous. Not that she could blame him really. With all the time lost…
He let out a frustrated sigh and looked skyward as if trying to regain his patience. She deposited her sword on the credenza and turned to face him.
“André said that. And I won’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind. But you’re right in that a brawl with the vamps would be better in the middle of nowhere than the center of a city, even one as haunted as New Orleans.”
That seemed to sooth him somewhat.
She closed the distance between him and ran her hands up his chest, relishing the warmth he radiated. “You must learn to trust, Laurent.”
“I don’t trust much of anything.” His response was swift, premeditated.
“Not even me?” she asked.
He stared down into the beautiful blue eyes he’d known for so long. Trust her. Did he trust her? She was everything to him. Always had been. But she was right. He did have a problem with trust. He trusted Burke. And his cousins. But somewhere along the way, he’d lost faith in people.
And deep down, he wasn’t entirely sure he trusted her not to leave him again.
Though, she was a different woman than the one who’d tried to kill him a week ago she was also different from the young woman he’d fallen in love with so long ago. Could he trust her with his heart again?
She smiled up at him and he felt the punch to his gut her smiles always brought. So lovely. So kissable. Her eyes alight with mischief.
She turned and sauntered away, her hips swinging in a sexy strut. Why did he get the feeling she knew something he didn’t?
Chapter Twelve
Cayenne tried to focus on the page but she’d been sitting in this chair for over an hour and hadn’t read a single word. The living room was silent with nothing to distract her. Except for her thoughts, which constantly strayed to the conversation she’d had with André two nights ago. He could either see into the future or was full of it.
The sound of a chair scraping across wood drew her attention to the dining room. Burke set
tled himself into a chair and tore off a hunk of bread. Everyone else had finished eating and headed off to other parts of the house. Laurent had murmured something about a meeting with Sebastian about the company. She’d chosen to stay out of the way and get some reading in. Books were a favorite past time between missions.
Since she’d arrived Burke had walked the property line every morning and every night. It annoyed her that Laurent had forbidden her from leaving the house. She wasn’t an infant that needed protecting. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and tucked her feet beneath her.
And at the same time she understood why he was so protective. He didn’t want anything to happen to her. He didn’t want anything to separate them again. He hadn’t asked to hear the words. Hell, he hadn’t even said them. But she could see the love in his eyes every time he looked at her. Something inside her fluttered.
How could André possibly know how she felt about Laurent when she wasn’t even sure how she felt herself? Other than the fact her blood boiled ever time he was near and she felt all tingly whenever she thought of him. Sleeping in his arms was the most relaxing thing she’d ever done. It was as if for the briefest of moments she could truly let her guard down and just be herself. Not a warrior. Not an assassin.
A woman.
No games. No lies. No hidden agenda. She could just be. She could relax. She could feel safe.
She met Burke’s glance across the dinner table. Was he lonely? Truth be told, the big man intimidated her a little bit. He was far bigger than his brother and cousins. And Madame had always warned her to watch out for the silent ones. There was a hidden depth there, she’d said.
She was sure of all the men in the house that, as Laurent’s brother, he would have questions for her. But he remained silent as he ate.
She flicked her gaze back to the book. What if André was wrong? Being in love and admitting to being mates were two very different things. What if she could never love Laurent as she had before?
Seduced by a Cajun Werewolf Page 9
