But she couldn’t tell her father that.
Her father shook his head. “No, you can’t. Your mother and I—we were true soul mates. Everything she did was for me. Everything I did was for her. To have her taken like that—in such a cruel fashion...” Vincent frowned. “Do you have any idea, what it’s like to imagine the person you love being left to burn? To know that she would have panicked, she would have felt real terror and great pain, and there was nothing you could do about it?”
Vivianne blinked back tears. These were the rawest words she’d ever heard from her father, and it revealed the depth of his love for her mother—and his pain. It made her want to ease her father’s suffering, something that was unexpected and quite alien to her.
“I dream,” he whispered. “I dream of that night. Of your mother screaming in pain, in fright. Of her running from door to door, being shoved around by the horde. I feel her desperation, her loneliness...and I can’t stand it.”
This time a tear did escape, leaving a warm, wet trail as it rolled down her cheek. God, what the hell was wrong with her? Since when was she so...emotional? All these feelings, these worries... Was she coming down with something? Vampires didn’t get sick. Didn’t get fevers. Didn’t let emotions leach out so easily. Maybe this lycan stuff made her vulnerable to viruses, or something. Whatever. She wasn’t used to this emotion from her father, nor the emotion it created as a result within her. Her father fussed with the folder on his desk; opening it, closing it. He pushed it to the side, then met her eyes.
“I know I can’t rid the earth of the werewolves, but I can defend us from them. I’m not killing werewolves, Vivianne. They’re treated as patients. We care for them, we feed them, but they are trespassing, and I can use that to our advantage—to Nightwing’s advantage.”
His face softened as his gaze met hers. “Do you have any idea what it did to me, learning you’d been bitten by a lycan?”
Vivianne’s mouth opened. No. She hadn’t. He’d never given any indication...
“To think that my wife—my life’s love—and now my daughter, were to be taken from me by those beasts...” He shook his head, his features harsh and drawn. “You can’t fault me for wanting to prevent that from happening again, to any of our colony. That’s what we have to do, Vivianne. As leaders, as primes, we are supposed to care for our colony. Protect them. Protect and further their interests... Guard their future. This is what I’m doing.”
He gave her a small smile. “I’ll make you a deal.”
Vivianne’s eyebrows rose. Apparently their moment of father-daughter bonding—if it could be called that—was over. Her father, the supreme negotiator, had those warm and fuzzies back under control. “I’m listening.”
“I will release every werewolf, once I’ve got my samples—in the most humane way, although they don’t deserve that treatment.”
Vivianne hesitated. Her beast rumbled in disagreement, but her vampire brain suggested it could be a good thing for the vampire race, to find a cure for the bite of a lycan. It could be a good thing for Nightwing, too, to find that cure. And if she couldn’t get her father to stop, perhaps this was the next best thing.
“I want to see the clinic,” she said.
Her father’s eyes flickered, just once, then he smiled. “All right. I’ll organize a driver for you, say, next week?”
She smiled back. “No. Give the directions to Harris, and we’ll drive up. Now.”
His smile tightened. “No problem.”
* * *
Vivianne zipped up her overnight bag, then wiped her forehead. She was so darn warm. Not feverish—she’d checked, although she wasn’t sure how reliable a human thermometer was on a vampire. She’d been surprised to find her core temperature had risen. She was perspiring, something she couldn’t hide too much longer from her directors and staff. She might have to visit the Galen brothers again, darn it. She was definitely running hot, and it was a battle to switch her thoughts from Zane, from his golden body in the glen, those muscles rippling in the moonlight as he—She shook her head. Damn. She had so many other things that desperately needed her attention. Like recovering twenty million dollars of Nightwing money. Like trying to decide one way or another to let the werewolf trials continue. Like whether she wanted a lifelong werewolf mate to live by her side, and if yes, how could she get her colony to accept him? To accept her? And could she handle having a mate? One that really knew what she was thinking and feeling? One that could impact the decisions she normally made for herself. Could she give up that independence?
Her doorbell rang. She frowned. This better not be some contrived delay from her father. She wouldn’t put it past him, though. She knew him too well, could read him better than he thought she could. He was keeping something from her, but after the raw emotion he’d shared with her, she was reluctant to destroy this new rough honesty they had going on. It was probably the most genuine and direct discussion she’d had with her father since... She hesitated on the stairs. Since he’d turned her and Lucien, and she’d raged at him, so furious of ever having a family of her own, or a legendary lifetime of love like her parents had shared, stripped away from her so brutally.
She hurried down the stairs and peered through the door. Her eyes widened when she saw Zane standing in her foyer. She pulled back from the door, heart thumping.
He was here.
Zane was here. Warmth spread through her, and rational thought burned away under the awakening desire at the sight of her...mate.
Her beast stretched languorously, and Vivianne shook her head. No. Now was not the time to get all hot and horny over a werewolf. She was about to drive through the night to get to her father’s new clinic by morning. A clinic that her mate would not approve of, nor condone, and would try to destroy.
But a clinic that could save vampires from lycans. She closed her eyes. She hated this. She wanted to stop the clinic. She wanted to find the cure for others in her colony, her race.
She wanted Zane.
The knock sounded again. “Open up, Vivianne. I know you’re in there.”
Vivianne rubbed at the frown line on her forehead—one that she’d only developed since knowing Zane—and straightened her shoulders. She fussed with her hair for a moment, annoyed with herself for that nod to vanity, but still wanting to be just a little presentable, then opened the door, her expression innocent and inquiring.
Zane stared at her for a moment, and she had a brief view of Harris, unconscious, just inside her foyer door. She sighed in exasperation. Harris had been angry the last time Zane had visited her. When he revived, he was going to be truly pissed.
“Zane, you can’t—”
Her words were cut off as his lips met hers.
Chapter 18
Zane walked into Vivianne’s apartment, his arms wrapping around her as he kicked the door shut behind him. Her waist felt tiny, his hands almost spanning her body, and then she had those curvy hips and breasts. She felt so damn good, all warm and luscious against him. That scent, that musky, spicy scent that was all wicked promise and sass, curled down inside him, and his beast hummed with approval.
Her mouth widened beneath his, her tongue flicking out in a carnal welcome that had his body throbbing in an instant. God, what was it about this woman that she could so tie him in knots?
He grasped her hips, lifting her against him as he walked further into her home. She moaned, grasping at his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He groaned as he felt her warmth against his groin.
He found a wall, and pressed her against it. She moaned again, writhing against him, kissing him with a passion that ignited a reciprocal arousal that had him hard and throbbing and ready for more.
She tilted her head back against the wall, gasping for breath. “I don’t know what it is you do to me,” she gasped, then her breath hitched as he rolled his hips against hers, his l
ength sliding along her crease, separated by clothes.
“Feel what you do to me,” he murmured, and watched her eyes widen as he rolled his hips again, this time slower, deeper.
“Wait, there’s something wrong with me,” she said, but her hands slid up over his shoulders, sliding his jacket down off his arms. He ran his hand down her body over the swell of breast and hip, to find the hem of her skirt.
“No, you’re perfect,” he assured her, closing his eyes as his hand slipped up underneath her skirt, feeling her toned thighs above the lacy edge of her thigh-high stockings—damn, was she deliberately trying to drive him crazy with need? Then he touched the moist dampness between them. God, he wanted her.
“I’m so hot,” she said, then gasped as he pulled down her panties and slid his finger inside her wet sheath.
“Yes, baby, yes you are,” he nodded.
“No, I mean I’m hot—constantly. I can’t concentrate, I keep thinking of—” she slid her hand between them, until she could cradle his length, pressing against the zipper of his jeans “—this. You.”
He sucked in a breath, ready to combust at her touch, and tried to hang on to reason, to thought. She was...he winced as her fingers cleverly opened the tab of his jeans and slid his zipper down. She reached in, and he almost exploded when her fingers pulled down his boxers, releasing him, stroking him. She was...
Oh. Wow. She was good. He stared up the wall above her head, trying to hang on to the control that threatened to burn away with each caress of her expert hand. “Uh...” He swallowed. He had to tell her.
“You’re—” His words were cut off as she lifted her head, taking his mouth in a hot, wet kiss that had him rolling his hips instinctively against hers. He lifted his head. “You’re in heat,” he gasped, panting.
She halted, her gaze meeting his, her hand still holding him, and he realized what a delicate position he was in with her.
“I’m...what?” she asked, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.
“You’re in heat,” he told her. “It’s part of the mating bond. We’ve initiated it, and until we both truly accept it, we’ll...want.”
Her mouth opened, and he could see—and feel—her inner struggle, her surprise, her desire to give in to the “want,” and her anger at being caught by an unexpected and unwanted passion.
“I’m in heat?” Her cheeks reddened. “That is not cool.”
He shook his head. “No.” That’s why they called it heat, and the way he felt for her right now, rock-hard and ready to explode, was in no way mildly warm, or cool, but definitely hot. She was hot. So warm, so ready in his hands.
“How do we fix this?”
He blinked, trying again to focus on the wall above her head. It was hard to concentrate on the conversation at this point. “Uh, we can stop...and both of us would feel very frustrated—but if that’s what you want, I’m fine with that,” he spoke quickly. “Uh, we can accept the bond, and then the heat will subside. A little.” From what he’d seen, bonded mates shared a certain passionate attraction, ongoing, so he didn’t think the heat for each other ever truly went away... “Or we could not accept the bond, and help each other out.”
She rested her head back against the wall. “Help each other out?”
He flexed in her hand, and her eyes widened at the movement. He slid his finger out, then home again. “Help each other...out.” He flicked her nubbin with his thumb, and she shuddered in his arms.
She gulped, then nodded. “Help me, help you.” She slid her hand down his length, and he needed no further urging. He removed his hand, and lifted her slightly, then slid into her. She moaned, deep and throaty, and he thrust. Once. Twice. Thri—Vivianne’s back arched, her gaze met his in shock, and then he felt her convulse around him, her muscles constricting, sending him over the edge into his own hot release as she cried out in pleasure.
It took them both a few minutes to get their breathing back under control, and then he withdrew, setting her onto her feet. She leaned back against the wall to look up at him.
“Better?” he asked, watching her closely.
She blinked, then nodded, her brow wrinkling with surprise. “Yes, actually.” She ran the back of her hand across her forehead. “I don’t feel so...hot.”
He rubbed his lips together to stop his smile from escaping. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders in relaxed disarray. Her blouse hung from her waistband, and her skirt was creased, but her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were rosy, and her features were relaxed, dreamy. She was hot. To him, she’d always be hot.
She licked her lips, then started to tuck in her blouse. “Why are you here, Zane?”
He looked at the door, then at her. He’d come over to talk to her, but as soon as she’d opened that door, his beast had taken over, and he’d acted on instinctive need, with no cool logic guiding him whatsoever. No, his other control center had kicked in.
“Uh...” He tidied himself up, adjusting his fly and tucking in his shirt. He bent down to scoop up the jacket Vivianne had stripped off him. After what they’d done, he was strangely reluctant to raise the topic he wanted—needed—to discuss with her. No. He wanted to talk about them. About how they could possibly make this mating bond work. But there were pressing issues, and her query suggested she wasn’t quite ready to discuss them.
“I came to talk about your father’s clinic,” he told her, sliding his arms into his jacket.
Her features became wary, and he sensed her caution, her awareness. “What about it?”
His eyes narrowed. She knew.
She. Knew.
A ripple of disappointment rolled through him, and she lifted her chin. “How long have you known?” he asked.
Her shoulders sagged. “Not long,” she told him. “I had my suspicions, but he confirmed them this sunset.”
“We need to stop him, Vivianne. He’s taken members of River Pack—one of them is a scion. She’s nineteen years old.”
Her lips parted for a moment, and he sensed her shock, her slight horror, then that cool wash of control she so loved to use. “She’ll be fine,” she told him. “She’ll be going home, soon.”
His eyebrows rose in disbelief. “River Pack members have been missing for nearly a week. How long before they’re released?”
She frowned. “I don’t know, but I’ll look into it.”
He gaped at her. “You’ll look into it? Why won’t you stop it?”
This time it was Vivianne who gaped. “You would have me stop a program that could really help vampires? You would have me go against my own father?”
“Yes. I would. This ‘program,’” he stated, making air quotes with his fingers, “is at the torture of werewolves. They’re abducted—”
“Trespassing,” she corrected, and his features tightened with impatience.
“Tell me, if the land is under private seal, how are lycans to know whose territory it is, and whether they’re trespassing or not?”
She took a short, deep breath. “They won’t be hurt. My father gave his word that they’d be treated well, and let go.”
He gave her a frustrated look. “You forget, I was there when you woke up. I saw some of what he was doing, before that clinic was destroyed, and they weren’t treating folks ‘well.’ Your brother’s wife was nearly killed by him. Do you expect the lycans to just sit back and let your father steal us, hurt us, maybe even kill us, for what? For yet another weapon in vampire hands?”
She stepped toward him, her features tightening. “So it’s okay for lycans to be able to attack vampires, to kill us, and we are not supposed to protect ourselves?”
“You’ve been protecting yourselves for thousands of years,” he protested. “Is this really necessary?”
She blanched, and he felt her pain, coated in fear, and his brow dipped. “You seem to forget, Zane,” she whispere
d, “I’ve been there. If it wasn’t for some weird witchy-woo-woo stuff, I would be dead.” She dug her finger into his chest, and he stepped back.
“Is that what you want? This status quo to remain where all it takes is the snap of a werewolf’s teeth, and it’s sayonara, baby, for the vamps?” She tapped his chest again, and he took another step back. “What if things were reversed? What if all it took was for a vampire to bite you, and you’re dead. No second chances. What happened with us, Zane, it’s not normal. We got another go-around. Nobody else gets that.”
“You are killing us,” he told her quietly. He remembered that dream, that real terror she’d felt, the loneliness. He didn’t want that for her. Hell, to be honest, he didn’t want it for anyone, but what her father was doing—and what she was now condoning—it was cruel, and... “It’s inhumane.”
She flinched, and this time the pain felt new, hot. She smiled sadly. “But that shouldn’t surprise you, should it Zane? We vamps are, after all, inhuman. What did you call us? Monsters?” Her eyes flickered, and he saw the unshed tears, and realized for the first time how deeply he’d hurt her with his antipathy toward becoming...whatever the hell it was he was becoming.
But this wasn’t about them. This was about people being abducted, forced against their will to participate in medical tests, and hurt, maybe worse. She may consider herself a vamp, but she also had some werewolf in her, now. Surely she had to see how bad, how wrong this all was?
“This scion is younger than you when you turned,” he said softly. “She’s going to be scared. She’s not strong enough to fight off your father’s men, and you know that. She—and the rest of them, wouldn’t want to do this willingly.” He pursed his lips. “This is River Pack—you wanted to negotiate with them, remember? You wanted to get your goods through their blockade. Do you think they will ever forgive you for this? That they’ll let you increase your trade? Your father just closed that river to you permanently.”
Vivianne’s lips tightened, and he could feel that coolness, that hurt masked with anger, inside her. She wouldn’t change her mind. Not yet.
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