The Hunted

by L. A. Banks

  And he lay within her, breathing hard, not opening his eyes. She could feel his jaw packed with sudden steel. Then he left her.

  Damali opened her eyes and sat up slowly. She stared at him in stunned disbelief. “What’s wrong?”

  Why had he stopped—not now. The separation from his warmth, especially between her legs, felt like a cold stab up her center that brought her hand to her abdomen to stave off the shiver. His absence left phantom spasms, her rim burning, and her entire canal on fire. Oh yeah, she was beyond shame. What had he done to her? Come back to bed, shit . . . Carlos. She needed him so badly, tears were standing in her eyes. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  He shook his head, his back to her, and held up his hand, unable to form words. His mind was still open. His thoughts sent another hard shudder through her that made her body clench. She wanted him again, needed him one more time . . . it had been so long, and she’d almost lost him forever.

  In her mind she was begging him, trying save some of her dignity by not saying it out loud. Trying not to get on her hands and knees for it. But right now she felt like a junkie craving one more hit. Didn’t he know what it was for a woman to wait twenty-one whole years to be with a man . . . him? Had he any concept of what that was like? Agony. They had a second chance.

  “No. We don’t,” he said quickly without turning to look at her.

  One time would never be enough. She stared at him, needing his touch so immediately that she almost cried out for it. Didn’t he know how many fantasies he’d fueled, then had answered?

  “Baby . . . listen . . . I can’t. Okay?”

  She studied the back that was bronzed in the candlelight and by torches, its every detail quickening her with the need to reach out and touch it. Then she understood. Without the bite, with her, a Neteru, he couldn’t finish. The side of her throat throbbed; instant heat seared it and matched the pulse in his shaft. Her hand covered the ache at her jugular and a moan escaped her lips as she stroked it.

  “Stop . . .” His voice was a low, urgent warning. “It doesn’t matter. Just leave it alone. I’ll be cool in a minute.”

  “I can’t.” That was the cold-blooded truth. Stop? Was he mad? She couldn’t breathe. “Baby, you don’t understand.”

  “Hell, yeah, I do. You don’t understand. I can’t come back to you right now without hurting you. Like I said, gimme a minute.” He dropped his head back with his eyes closed tight and pulled in a sharp breath that cut the air. “Oh, shit . . . I’m okay. I’m all right.”

  Her eyes trailed down his body and she felt his shudder from across the room. Then something strange happened. It began inside of her, as though something dormant woke up. Sudden strength crept through her and made her womb contract. He staggered farther away from her, and she could hear him inhale hard on a strangled gasp. She nearly climaxed again when he did—just seeing him that way, on the border of no control, was like a rush.

  “What is the scent?” he murmured, his breaths erratic, pained.

  “Me being really ready for you . . .” She leaned back on her elbows and mentally dared him to turn around. She needed him to. It was a reflex after what he’d just done to her. Her lids lowered to half-mast, her voice dropped to a sultry, provocative octave free of all fear and inhibitions. “Matured . . . willing . . . Neteru that is not afraid of the bite. Antibodies that ward off a turn. I challenge you. Just once.” Then her voice fractured to a whisper. “Baby, please, I really need that now, too.”

  He turned around and she could tell he was desperately seeking composure. But his eyes flickered gold, then intermittently red.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You can’t.” She’d breathed out the plea. This wasn’t up for negotiation. He’d turned her ass out, and wasn’t gonna leave her hanging like this. Not tonight. “It’s no longer my first time.” Pride stripped, she didn’t care if he was gonna make her beg—just as long as he came back to bed.

  Every desire she ever had became directed toward him. Her mind dredged his and locked in on the scent. “This is what was mixed with ripening Neteru outside Nuit’s lair. When I really want you, it’s something just for you. Come back to bed.”

  She’d told the man the truth; she’d been so aroused by the fight, the adrenaline, and the primal rush of it all . . . if it weren’t for certain death, he could have done her right there. “Tell me you didn’t feel it, too, in New Orleans.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply through his nose, his will shattered. “I wanted you so bad that night my hands were shaking, girl.”

  “They’re shaking now,” she said with a sly smile. “When I call you like this, don’t make us both suffer.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded, watched him stalk back to the foot of the bed and slowly climb onto it, coming toward her on all fours. His eyes never left hers now; a hint of fang was showing as the last of his suave façade crumbled and he went primal.

  “I won’t be able to hold back this time . . . you know that? I’m past the point.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back as he covered her again. “Yeah . . . I’m counting on that,” she whispered, then lifted her hips to take him in.

  As soon as he entered her she nearly lost her mind. His hold under her backside was more aggressive than she’d expected, but she met his ardent response by immediately wrapping her legs around his waist again. The sound he released as he sank deep within her was so animal that it opened a new channel in her brain. Sound fused with touch and became liquid heat. She arched hard and found herself above him. Holding his jaw, she forced his head to the side and bent quickly to kiss his neck, making his eyes roll to the back of his head as she delivered the first bite.

  Everything in her shook as his moan washed through her bloodstream and pleasure reverberated back through her in an endless recycling ecstasy. Her name started in his chest, got trapped in his throat, and escaped on another groan. She could feel him arch, pull her down against him harder. All gentleness gone, she was beneath him in seconds, part of her hanging off the side of the bed, him plundering her so relentlessly that they both fell. She was laughing and crying at the same time, hysterical it felt so good. She banged her head on the floor and opened her eyes. He stopped, the expression on his face intense, and rose above her. No laughter in his eyes, no flicker of gold, he was over the top—solid red. Yeah, baby, that’s more like it. “Hit it like you need to . . . I can take the bite.”

  He stopped breathing and closed his eyes slowly, tilted his head, trembling, deciding, as though almost afraid to move. She made the decision for him, arched suddenly, raked his back, and bit him as hard as she could. The breath he’d been holding came out with her name planted in a guttural wail. Beneath her hands every muscle in his shoulders, back, hips, thighs, ass instantly united toward the goal of pure leverage.

  On the floor he punished her, trying to cushion her spine with his hands, his arms, unable to stop moving against her. Tears of pleasure were running down his face, his head thrown back, one hand outstretched to save her skull from concussion against cement. His voice was a low rumble, a baritone vibration that she could feel through the floor and her skin, tears and mucous deepening the unintelligible staccato fusion of Spanish and English, stuttering something about “Don’t stop” as she moved hard with him, split by “Oh, damn, baby . . .”

  She clung to him, absorbing every deep thrust with searing pleasure, not caring who heard her. He was chanting, “I love you”; she was sobbing the same words. Then her name became mi corazon upon another choked fusion of English and Español, garbled by paralyzing spasms.

  The room soon started losing form and shape as the illusion began to fracture—his concentration singular—total release inside her. She could feel him approaching the edge of sure completion, which only made her tumble over her own, claiming his, merging with it, bonding it with their bodies, their heat, combined chants of release ecstasy, every fiber joined as she h
eard his gums rip. Her hard contractions sealed him to her, pain at her throat, a blinding strike that turned into a tidal wave of orgasmic pleasure. He threw back his head, breathing hard through his mouth, fangs glistening with blood and saliva.

  There was no fear; he was a sculpted work of art that brought nothing but pure Eros. She could see him in the dark, his strength staggering. It was reflex, she bit him as hard as she could once more, and that seemed to make him more aggressive. His jaw collided with hers to forcefully knock her head back, and he took her throat again, then came hard in blinding spasms that he sent into her jugular with the same intensity being unleashed between her legs. His siphon from her throat synchronized with driving rhythm of his hips. She felt herself losing consciousness. He tried to pull out of the bite, but she flattened her palms to his back, and he practically wept at the physical command for him not to stop. She didn’t care if she died tonight, as long as she went out like this.

  Never in his life . . . never . . . What had she done to him . . . Every shudder, every whimper, every moan riddled his system with sensation after sensation of wondrous release. He felt her multiple orgasms at the cellular level, and as he siphoned the sweet, salty fluid from her jugular, her body siphoned seed from him in equal measure.

  Adrenaline, passion, unbridled lust, small doses of her fear filled his mouth, his throat, sweet heat coating his insides, drugging him, becoming an erotic hallucinogen of exploding, exponential groin torture. It took him to near blackout, sent needles of pleasure through every inch of his skin. He pulled out of the bite and cried out just to keep from flat-lining her. Never before . . . life from her veins . . . never could he have imagined . . . the myths the other masters had tried to tell him, but he couldn’t comprehend such ecstasy . . . and that she loved every minute of it was killing him.

  Thick saliva, blood, tears became one inside his mouth, consciousness ebbed and flowed as each hard thrust contracted his body with a violent arch followed by another shuddering release from his groin. The combination hurt so good it made him sob. His mind was putty. Control, what was that? She had to stop arching, let him pull out to save his sanity. Woman, I can’t stand it . . . Seconds prolonged on a wail transformed into persistent need—he had no choice, had to keep moving inside her, repeating the unbroken rhythm, repeating the bite, taking more of her than he should while giving her all that he had.

  His voice was a muffled plea against her neck. “Baby, forgive me . . . I can’t stop.” Didn’t she hear him? He’d hollered he couldn’t stand it, told her as loud as he could in his mind that he was nearly insane it felt so good, but stop—impossible. Blood was running down his chin. She should have never taken him there, never opened that channel, dredged his mind, soldered him to her body . . . mentally gave him the scent to her ripened. Never. Shouldn’t have made him taste it undiluted on her sweat-slicked skin, in her mouth, riddling her hair, while taking his seed. Oh, shit, she shouldn’t have denied him for years, then made him battle for her—not smelling like this in a priest’s house.

  She was dying in his arms, but he couldn’t stop moving against her. Gasping for breath, he, too, was dying from sheer pleasure. His eyes were shut tight, her name had become an agonized chant comingled with a moan on each deep invasion against her womb, sweat and tears ran together and mixed on the bridge of his nose, dripping hot on her face, the sheets, her fingers tangled in his soaked hair, opening his scalp to the coolness of the room till he shivered. Oh, goddamn, don’t stop . . .

  Her body would not relent. Her hips moved against him like liquid fire, scorching his barren skin that had waited for her for so long. And she smelled so damned good, adrenaline competing with natural female, working shea butter, almond oils, blood, and something just her.

  Without mercy she continued to invade his mind, echoed back a call and response that made him lose control, he was clay in her hands, whatever she wanted from him was hers. Never in his life, not even in death, had he so completely surrendered in a woman’s arms. Shit . . . yeah, he’d come to her whenever she called. Yeah, baby, would cross prayer lines and risk a hollow point bullet for this—just call. Sweet seduction thy name is Damali. Her first time, correction, it was his. Baby, take everything I’ve got—name it. I don’t care! It’s all yours.

  He was babbling in his mind, yelling, Yes, hollering that shit and thinking it all at the same time. Had she any idea what Neteru did to a man, what she did to him? Turned out, done righteous, and he couldn’t even catch his breath he was broke down sobbing so hard. If he had only known it could be like this . . .

  She pet his trembling shoulders as he tried to push himself up to look at what had overtaken him, this creature, this huntress, who had just stripped his cool to the bone—blown his mind.

  But he couldn’t remove himself from the tight, rhythmic hold her body had on his. As long as he stayed in her, the shared sensations ricocheted between them with each one of her hard contractions. He had to pull out but couldn’t; she had him drooling on himself, blind. He heard his mind beg her to stop, it was so damned good, and as he gathered the strength to look down at her, he saw multiple puncture wounds in her neck, blood oozing from them. She wasn’t breathing. Her hands fell away from his hair. His vision blurred as another shudder passed through him and finally bled his scrotum dry.

  “Damali!” He tightened his hold on her. Her eyes were open and she wasn’t breathing. Panic ripped through him. Reality kicked his ass, brought him down hard. His breath caught in his throat. No, Por Dios, not like this! He gathered up her limp body and rocked her against him, still in her. Wliat had he done . . .

  A sudden gasp, then a huge exhale of air escaped her mouth. The sensation passed through him like a ghost. Tears streamed down his face as she clutched his shoulders and inhaled again hard.

  He was beyond words. A sob shattered him as he touched her hair, expecting her to pull away. “Baby, I—”

  She reached for his cheek and shook her head, then laughed. He just weakly stared at her.

  “Daaaayuuum . . .” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Carlos, I had no idea.” Her hand went to her neck, and her fingers came away with a few drops of blood.

  Shame constricted the muscles around his lungs. He hadn’t even sealed the wounds when he pulled out—his shit was raggedy, unprofessional, wasn’t even smooth, but damn it was good. “Baby . . . I . . . couldn’t help it . . . oh, shit . . .”

  She licked her fingers and raised one eyebrow. “I’m a couple of pints low. Dang.”

  When she chuckled again, he finally laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “You need to stop,” he argued. “I tried to explain . . . but. Girl, for real. Now, look. This bullshit is dangerous.”

  It almost hurt to pull out of her, she felt so exquisite. But they’d just danced on the edge of disaster, and he couldn’t have her go out like this. He stood with effort, then scooped her up and laid her on the bed. Yeah, he had to kill Nuit for this. In an odd way, he now better understood where the brother was coming from.

  “If I had known it was your first time,” she said in a lazy, sexy voice, stretching on the tangled sheets, “I would have been more gentle with you.”

  Carlos put his head in his hands and finally laughed, mostly in relief. She was definitely dangerous. What was he doing locked in a lair with a huntress? Girlfriend didn’t need her Isis to slay him. He glanced around the plain room, remembering exactly where he was. “I need to get you back home.” He dropped his hands and shook his head as he looked at her neck. “You sure you’re protected?”

  “Just like a man, all late and after the fact,” she said with a sly grin, shaking her head. “Wouldn’t have come over here, if I wasn’t.”

  “Okay. Cool. It’s all good,” he said, beginning to pace, not sure why. “Uh, I gotta explain some of this to the monks—damn . . . in their spot. They might have heard us. See, this was raggedy. I don’t generally roll like this, D . . . but my circumstances.” He raked his fingers through his damp hair and wiped hi
s mouth again with the back of his hand, smelling her sweet scent all over him. He closed his eyes. This woman was definitely a drug. “You gotta go home. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. I tore up your throat, baby . . . I’ve gotta seal the wounds or Marlene will freak. No, see, you gotta go home.”

  When she didn’t answer him, he just stared at her for a moment. “Does it hurt? I’m really sorry . . . yeah, no, you’ve gotta go home.”

  “You sure you’re ready for me to go home?”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it, not sure what to say. Hell no. But . . .

  “Trust me, it didn’t hurt,” she said, her gaze intense. “I’ve never felt pleasure like that in my life.” She brought her hand to cover her neck where he’d bitten her, not touching the surface of her skin, but allowing her palm to hover over the bites. “I could actually feel an org—”

  “I’m in prison,” he said fast. He didn’t need her to remind him. “Got people I have to answer to.”

  “You need me to put on my dress and go get a few bags from the refrigerator? Figured you burned all that energy . . . and if we have to bar the door, you’ll need it. Or, I could just go up there, show ’em my passion mark, tell the old boys to stand down. Explain that I’ll be in your lair for a few. I’m over twenty-one and consenting. We’re grown. If they see I’m all right, they’ll chill.” She allowed her smile to broaden and then she tilted her head and pouted. “C’mon, Carlos. I waited a long time to get with you. Tighten me up, one more time before I go home?”