by Jenna Black
There was a warm, slightly earthy scent to her skin, and he tasted a faint hint of salt on his lips. He heard rather than saw Hannah lick her lips. A nervous gesture, he thought. He stared at the small, olive-skinned hand in his and found himself unable to let go. He raised her hand to his lips again, this time turning it over so he could brush a kiss over her vulnerable palm. She shivered and sucked in a quick, startled breath. But she didn’t pull her hand away.
He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew, as he pressed another kiss to the underside of her wrist, where he could feel her pulse throbbing steadily. He inhaled her scent—not clouded by perfumes or lotions—and told himself to stop immediately. After tonight’s dramatics, he was not in his right mind, and neither was Hannah. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he liked the little spitfire! He had no business kissing her.
His body couldn’t have cared less about his logical arguments. His pulse kicked up and his gums tingled in a prelude to his fangs descending. Hannah moved closer to him, so that her body was tucked neatly up against his side. Her scent changed, a musky hint of arousal adding to her enticing bouquet. That scent shot straight to his groin.
When he raised his eyes to hers, he took in her expression of stunned desire and briefly battled with himself. This was some kind of freaky aberration, a reaction to the stress of the night, a mindless desire for pleasure to ward off pain. And yet, even knowing this, he couldn’t help bending his head forward, wrapping one arm around her back and drawing her even closer.
When he brushed his lips over hers, they both gasped. Jules pulled away a moment, overwhelmed by the power of that simple kiss. His fangs were fully descended, his cock fully hard, a lightning-fast arousal that shocked him to his core. With a little groan, he moved in for another kiss.
Then jumped backward when he heard the distinctive click of a card key in the door.
“Marde,” he muttered, glancing at Hannah’s flushed cheeks and darkened eyes, then glancing at the noticeable bulge in his pants. He willed the fangs to recede as he heard the door swing open.
Biting her lip, Hannah moved to sit on the bed across from him instead of beside him. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, though the flush of desire remained in her cheeks. He crossed his legs in an effort to camouflage his state of arousal as Drake walked into the room.
Drake’s nostrils flared briefly, and Jules realized that no amount of playing innocent would fool his superior senses, for the scent of arousal lingered in the air, a scent that would not escape a vampire’s nose. Drake gave him a faintly disapproving look, but otherwise pretended not to notice.
“As I suspected, we’re surrounded,” he said. “We’ll just have to brazen our way through this interview with Camille.” He shook his head. “I’ll be glad to put this cursed city behind me.”
For a fraction of a second, Jules actually agreed with him, until he remembered that putting this city behind him meant leaving Ian alive and well and killing. Somehow, he was going to have to find a way to resign himself to that fact. He just didn’t know how.
HANNAH WISHED SHE WERE as brave about this as she was pretending to be. She held her chin up high and tucked her hands in her jacket pockets so she wouldn’t fidget as she walked. Drake walked on one side of her, Jules on the other. She sneaked a peek at Jules from under her lashes and wondered what he was thinking.
She’d gotten him to talk some in the hotel, but not enough. Whatever it was that caused his pain was still buried deep, hidden from the light of day. If only she hadn’t let her stupid hormones take over, he might have let it out.
Speaking of hormones—how many times did she have to learn by experience that alpha males and her were not a good combo? She wasn’t the type to let some guy dominate her just because of that Y chromosome, and they couldn’t stand being with a woman who was just as insistent on getting her way as they were on getting theirs. And yet, every time she was attracted to a guy, wouldn’t you know it, he was one of those alpha males?
For a year and a half now she’d gone cold turkey on men of any type, sick of the struggle. What was the point of playing these silly games, anyway? She’d never come close to falling in love—whatever, exactly, that meant—and as for the physical pleasure a man could give her … Well, that’s what vibrators were for.
Now, suddenly, she found herself faced with the ultimate temptation—a sexy, wounded, alpha male in deep trouble. And she forgot all her resolutions and promises to herself.
He reminded her so much of the men in her family—except for the vampire part, of course. Her policeman brothers and fireman father were all quintessential, testosterone-laden alpha males, and all of them adhered to a strict I-don’t-need-help-from-anyone policy. Which she couldn’t help thinking had something to do with why her father was twice divorced, her two oldest brothers drank too much, and her youngest brother suffered from what she felt sure was clinical depression. Not that he would see a shrink about it or take Prozac or anything. Real men don’t take Prozac, he’d told her when she’d gently suggested he might feel better on medication. He’d made it into a joke, but it had been a brush-off all the same.
She should have learned her lesson about trying to help this particular brand of male long ago. But some hopelessly romantic part of her, a part she wished she could exorcize once and for all, kept hoping that this time would be different. Which was no doubt why she was letting herself get all hot and bothered over a guy like Jules. He was probably even more fucked up than her father or brothers. Sternly, she ordered herself to keep her distance from now on.
Drake called a halt a few yards away from an impressive-looking columned doorway, looking down his nose at Hannah repressively. “I would ask you to please not say anything unless you absolutely have to. I doubt Camille would appreciate your sense of humor, and Jules and I aren’t strong enough to protect you in there.”
She forced out a nervous laugh. “Oh, goody. Sounds like fun.” The corners of her mouth were lifted into something that was supposed to be a smile, but she didn’t think the expression was very convincing.
Looking satisfied with himself, Drake started forward again.
“Enculé,” Jules muttered under his breath. He gave Hannah’s arm a squeeze. She didn’t want to know how intimidated she must look if Jules thought she needed the comfort.
“What does that mean?” she asked in a whisper, figuring it was okay to encourage his habit as long as she wasn’t the one being insulted.
Jules bent his head close to hers, his voice so low she could barely hear him. “Loosely translated, it means ‘fucker’.”
“Hmm,” she said with a frown. “I was imagining something more colorful.”
He chuckled. “Well, it actually means he’s being fucked, but there’s no exact English equivalent.”
“How about ‘fuckee’?”
He made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, covering his mouth with his fist as Drake gave them a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder. The twinkle in Jules’s eyes ruined his “I was just coughing” act.
Hannah smiled, glad to see that sparkle back in his eyes when his expression had been so miserable before. When he smiled with genuine good humor, his whole face came alive and he looked so damn good her pulse hiccupped. She averted her gaze before her hormones could go into overdrive again.
The momentarily playful mood evaporated when they climbed the steps and rang the bell. Hannah’s palms went distinctly clammy and she cursed herself for being such a chicken. She swallowed past her fear and stiffened her spine. She would not disgrace the Moore family name by acting like some faint-hearted female. She could just hear her brothers’ playground taunts ringing through her head—afraid of heights, little girl? You gonna scream like a girl? Who wears the panties in your family? These were the taunts they’d thrown at each other, and Hannah had learned her lesson well. To show fear was to be girlie, and to be girlie was bad.
None of this stopped her heart from pounding as she walked through the foyer of the palatial h
ouse of the Master of Baltimore. When the butler ushered them into the living room, Hannah swore she could actually feel the power in the air. The door closed behind them, and Hannah felt like the Christian who’d just been thrown into the coliseum with a lion.
The Master of Baltimore sat in a regal chair, staring at the three of them without speaking. She was, as Drake had described her, a handsome woman. Her dress and bearing screamed of old money—it wasn’t just the opulence of the house—and Hannah felt grubby by comparison.
Camille’s face held little expression past a certain curiosity as she examined them. However, her son, whom Drake had aptly described as a young-looking punk—but a very dangerous punk—wore a very definite expression. Seething resentment, Hannah would label it. He was leaning over a chair, his elbows resting on the back, his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes pierced them one by one, and it took all of her willpower not to cower under that chilling, malevolent gaze.
“So,” Camille said, drawing everyone’s attention to her, “please introduce me to your companions, Drake.” Her voice had a slightly sing-song quality to it, fluid and melodic. Pleasant, even, though Hannah doubted the woman was anything like pleasant.
Drake made the introductions, and there followed another short period of staring and assessing.
Gabriel rose from his slouch and came around the front of his chair, his stare as frightening as before. “I hear you’re a Guardian,” he said to Jules. His lip curled up in a sneer at the word. “And you’ve never felt the pleasure of a kill.”
“That’s right.”
Hannah was surprised at how level and calm Jules’s voice came out. The sneer on Gabriel’s face and in his voice would usually have roused Jules’s temper. But perhaps even he was too smart to let his temper go at a time like this.
Gabriel looked disgusted. “Pathetic.”
“Gabriel.” Camille’s voice held a distinct tone of command, and Gabriel shut up. But his eyes still shot daggers at the three of them, and his body language said he was on the verge of attack.
Why? Hannah wondered. As far as she knew, they hadn’t done anything to him.
“I hear you were on the verge of killing my fledgling,” Camille said, directing the words at Hannah.
Hannah shoved her fear aside and met Camille’s eyes boldly. “Well he was on the verge of killing my friend.” The word felt odd on her tongue. Was that what Jules really was to her? A friend?
“So why didn’t you pull the trigger?”
“I’m not used to murdering people.” Oops. That was probably the wrong thing to say. Or at least the wrong way of saying it. Beside her, she felt both Jules and Drake tensing.
Luckily for her, Camille didn’t seem particularly insulted. “Well, it’s a good thing for you that you didn’t. My son would have greatly enjoyed punishing Drake and Jules for that death.” She glanced over at Gabriel, whose sudden wolfish smile revealed wicked-looking fangs. Maybe she was just imagining it, but Hannah thought those fangs looked bigger than the ones she’d seen on other vamps.
Gabriel’s disturbing gaze settled on Hannah. “And my mother would have enjoyed punishing you,” he said.
Unwilling to seem daunted by him—no matter how daunted she actually was—Hannah planted her fists on her hips. “What’s the matter? Don’t think you could take me yourself?”
Drake groaned softly, and Jules elbowed her, but though she knew it was dangerous to provoke these two, she also knew that with certain kinds of people it was better not to show your fear. She thought she might have guessed right when she saw the hint of a smile briefly cross Gabriel’s face.
“Gabriel has a strange squeamishness about hurting mortals,” Camille explained.
Gabriel looked offended. “I’m not squeamish! It’s just that they break so easily there’s no fun in it.”
“I have no such problem myself,” Camille continued as though he hadn’t spoken.
Hannah nodded to acknowledge that she got the message loud and clear, and Camille turned her attention to Jules. “You must hate Ian a great deal to have ventured this far for revenge.”
Jules said nothing, but his face spoke for him.
“And he must hate you a great deal to defy me by seeking his own revenge.”
So Ian’s attack had been an act of defiance? Hannah salted that little tidbit away for further examination later.
“Why should he hate you so bitterly?” Camille asked, an expression of polite inquiry on her face.
Jules visibly fought for calm, but the strain showed in his voice. “I suppose he’s blaming me for getting him hounded out of Philadelphia.”
A tiny frown furrowed Camille’s brow, then vanished. “So he tells me. And you hate him because …”
“He made me what I am,” Jules answered from behind gritted teeth.
Hannah cut a quick glance in his direction, then looked away. Admittedly, she didn’t know him very well, but she’d never gotten the impression he much minded being a vampire. Any fool could see there was more to it than that. And Camille was not a fool.
“I should think you would thank him for the honor he did you,” she said. Jules’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he said nothing and Camille continued. “My mortals scratch and claw at each other for the privilege of my bite.”
“Ian might have been eager to become a Killer. I wasn’t.” Jules’s fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white.
Gabriel raised a white-blond eyebrow. “Is that all?” he asked. “It should be water under the bridge, shouldn’t it? Sounds to me as if you haven’t earned your hate. You’ve gotten the best of both worlds. Ian gave you eternal life, and you are spared the distasteful need to kill thanks to—”
Camille hissed—just like a snake, Hannah thought—and Gabriel fell silent. His face took on a sullen cast, but his eyes still glittered with danger. Hannah was impressed that Jules was able to drag his eyes away from the menace that stood so close, but he turned his attention to Camille once more.
“Ian has earned my hatred,” he said, sounding calmer than he looked. “A great deal of that is … personal.”
“Oh, do share. I’m eager to hear what my fledgling was up to for the brief time he wasn’t tucked firmly under my wing.”
But Jules shook his head. “As I said, it’s personal.” Gabriel made an ugly snorting sound. “Personal,” he mocked. “But we here in this room keep no secrets from one another.”
“Gabriel, behave,” Camille warned.
Gabriel whirled on her. “Why?” he cried, throwing up his hands. “Why shouldn’t the truth flow like wine?”
Camille stood up and Hannah shivered with a sudden chill. Jules and Drake must have felt it too, for both of them moved a little closer to her and, as if by some silent agreement, put themselves between her and the squabbling pair.
“We’ve discussed this,” Camille said, her voice low and soothing.
Discussed what? Hannah wondered. It was like they were talking in code, and she desperately wanted to break it. What was Camille trying to hide? And why did Gabriel not want to hide it?
Gabriel snorted. “We discussed nothing. You ordered. And this once, I don’t feel inclined to obey, not when the request comes from Daddy Dearest.”
From a good ten feet away, Camille swung her arm. Gabriel flew across the room, going ass-over-teakettle over the chair he’d once been leaning on. He landed with a thud and a grunt of pain, but quickly rose. The flush of his pale face made the scar on his cheek stand out like a white lightning bolt in contrast. He was breathing hard, showing his fangs, though his posture was defensive as Camille stepped closer and he backed away.
“Why do you protect him?” Gabriel asked as he continued to back up, his body visibly tensed for another blow.
“My son, don’t make me—”
“Why should you do anything Eli asks?”
He flew through the air again, this time all the way across the room and out the door. As he lay on the floor, looking stunned, the door s
lammed shut.
Silence, fraught with tension, fell on the room. Camille stared at the door through which she had thrown her son. Jules and Drake both stood with open mouths, too stunned to mask their expressions.
Hannah’s impression of Eli hadn’t been so great to start with, but this just put the cherry on the sundae. Still, she felt bad for Drake and Jules, who so obviously looked up to their Founder. Or used to, at least.
Eventually, Camille’s posture relaxed, and she sighed. “He’s gone,” she said, turning back to them. The corners of her mouth were tight with displeasure. “Your presence in Baltimore is having an unpleasant influence on my dear son.”
“Your son by Eli,” Drake said, as if he couldn’t possibly have heard right.
Camille fixed him with an arctic stare. “Perhaps you now understand our non-interference pact. A pact that you and your friends may well destroy.
“I want you out of my city. All of you. If you cause any more trouble before you go, I will give you to Gabriel and allow him to take out his anger with Eli on you.”
She turned her gaze to Hannah. “My son might be … sentimental enough to make a quick meal of you, but you can be sure your friends will not be so lucky.”
Hannah suspected her face was about the color of Gabriel’s hair right now. “Okay, I think we got the message.”
“We were just leaving anyway,” Drake said, flashing Jules a quelling look when it seemed he might argue.
“Yeah,” Hannah said, “this is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to die here.” No one seemed to think that was funny, and Hannah couldn’t blame them. Jules gave her a withering glare, and she grinned feebly. “Sorry. I make jokes when I’m nervous. I’m all for leaving, but what if Gabriel’s waiting for us? He doesn’t seem too keen on this whole noninterference thing you’ve got going.”
