Using more of his natural strength and speed, he flipped them over, switching their positions. Now he was on his back, and she was poised over him. His hands held her waist, and her legs were on either side of him, her knees pressed against his narrow hips.
Mia could feel the tip of his cock straining upward, barely grazing the wet and swollen entrance of her sex, sending jolts of heat deep inside her. She instinctively tried to move her hips downward, to join his body with hers. All she wanted in the world was him in her, to be filled. It was a hunger like nothing she’d ever known before.
But he wouldn’t let her move.
She arched her back, felt his cock twitch in response.
“Colin!” she complained. “You’re going crazy, too!”
He gave a dark and sexy laugh. “Yep.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Because I can.
He was loving the control, and holding on to it with all his might. And he was loving her responses to that control. She’d never been more aware of her body, of the cravings that only Colin could excite and satisfy. Her breasts were heavy, her nipples aching. Her nerve endings were on fire, and coiling heat burned inside her. There was no blood craving involved right now, but the lust was all-consuming.
“Colin!” she pleaded. “Enough!”
He was covered in a sheen of sweat, muscles tautly straining, his dark eyes glittering, and he was shaking from holding back. “You want me?”
“Yes!”
His smile was dangerous. His voice was low, and commanding. “Make it slow.”
His hands came away from her hips, and moved to cup her breasts. The shock wave that went through her when his thumbs grazed her nipples would have set off an orgasm, but Colin’s voice in her head murmured, Easy.
Mia lowered her body onto his cock, taking him into her with the slowness he commanded. A climax wracked through her with every little movement, but somehow she found the willpower to take him the way he wanted, though she was screaming inside for pounding speed.
She kept on stroking him, setting a slow, slow, sliding rhythm for a long, long time. She brushed her breasts across his chest, joined her mouth to his on every downstroke. She twined her tongue with his with hot, fleeting kisses. Their breathing grew more and more ragged, the connection between them more electric.
His hands roamed over her, stroked her clitoris, bringing her to another climax. When she moaned, the groan that came from deep in his throat matched her sound.
She couldn’t stop her response to that heartfelt groan, and her hips ground down hard against his. He bucked as she plunged.
His orgasm took her with the same explosive intensity as it did him.
The next thing Mia knew, she was lying stretched out on top of Colin, and he was holding her as she shook like a leaf.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, lips close to her ear. “It’s—that was—”
“Wow,” she finished for him. For some reason there were tears stinging her eyes. Tears of joy, of exhaustion, of release, tears for all sorts of reasons. She couldn’t ever remember crying over great sex before. She wiped her face against Colin’s shoulder, surprised that she wasn’t uncomfortable showing this vulnerability. But if the man could get inside her head, and she into his—
Mia fell asleep before this thought was complete.
She was called out of very pleasant warm darkness when Colin shifted and said, “We’re going to be in trouble for keeping the Matris waiting.”
For a moment, still foggy with sated lust and bone-melted exhaustion, Mia didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. She didn’t even remember where they were, other than a very comfortable bed.
Then the whole mess came back to her, and she sighed and sat up. Colin was propped up on a pile of pillows, one arm thrown over his head, and he didn’t look at all guilty for keeping the tribunal waiting. She couldn’t help but trace a finger around the unrepentant smile quirking his lips.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk to me when you came rushing in here?”
His eyes narrowed in thought. “Oh, yeah…the Patron. How are you going to help me save the world from him?”
She noted that he wasn’t asking if she’d help. “Can I ask you a question?”
“And waste more time before we have to face the honorable old ladies?” He propped his other hand behind his head, and grinned. “Sure.”
Anjelica and Serisa sure didn’t look like old ladies to her, but Mia let that go. “Why do you want to save the world?” she asked seriously. “You really believe in the hero mystique, don’t you? Why do vampires protect humans?”
“Mortals,” he corrected. He looked at her breasts and smiled happily for a moment before pulling his gaze back up to her face. “Vampires are humans, too—superior humans, sexier and more virile humans. Mortals need protection from themselves, and from—”
“Morally superior, horny vampire snobs.”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “We snobs take vows to protect and serve.”
“But why? How long has this been going on? What do you get out of it?”
He gave her a hard look. “Will the answers help you make up your mind about the Patron?”
She supposed she couldn’t put it off much longer. She swallowed, and steeled her resolve. “Yes.”
“For one thing, taking care of mortals is fun. It beats Primes fighting each other for dominance and territory. The matris and elders figured out a long, long time ago that we need outlets for aggression. I learned in vampire school—”
“You have vampire school?”
“You don’t think I went to Harvard, do you?”
“I don’t think you could get into Harvard.”
“I went to UCLA.” He caressed her cheek. “I learned in vampire school that the Clans’ protection of mortals started being codified back in ancient Egypt—something about a bunch of vampires being saved from some disaster by priests of Osiris, and taking a vow before the god of death to protect the priests and their families.”
“Nice legend.”
“I don’t think it’s a legend—there’s written records of this pact someplace. It’s the basis for the code we live by. Some of us.” He held out his left arm to show her the fox head tattooed on the inside of his wrist. She’d noticed it before. “Those of us who serve mortals take the vow and wear the mark of our Clan.”
“So nobody makes you do it.”
He nodded. “And there have always been perks to the job.”
“Damsels in distress taste delicious.”
“They certainly do. And I guess there were Primes who protected ancient cities and were treated as gods for it. It’s a pretty good life—you kick the occasional bad guy’s ass, and get to live in a palace and have all the women you want in return.”
“Too bad that times changed.”
“And as times changed, the Families got into leading mostly normal lives, but the Clan Primes went into a tragically misunderstood gothic hero period.” He looked pained. “I am so glad I wasn’t around for that. I suspect they wore poet shirts and black capes when they appeared out of the night to save the damsels.”
Mia grinned. “Not your style.”
“And then politics came into the picture, complicating the choices between good and bad. My own family worked on both sides of the French Revolution. Some saved the aristocrats from the evil peasants; some saved the downtrodden peasants from the decadent aristocrats. There was a lot of damsel tasting on both sides.”
Mia laughed. “Vampire family feuds can’t be pretty.”
He shook a finger at her. “We’re Clan.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Yes. But the distinction between Clan, Family, and Tribe is important.”
“Why?”
He looked surprised, and opened his mouth a couple of times before he answered. “The Tribes are bad guys. Always have been, always will be.”
“Didn’t the blond guy say something about Trib
es having blended into the Families?”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t listening too hard.”
She remembered that he’d been busy trying not to show how pissed at her he was on finding out she was involved with hunters and the Patron. She didn’t want him pissed at her now. She would much rather have conversations than arguments with Colin.
“What about Clan Primes in the modern era?” she asked.
Colin was aware of Mia’s mental barriers going up, though he hoped she wasn’t consciously aware of doing it. He suspected part of her sudden distancing herself was because of the damsel in distress comments. They likely reminded her of his reluctance to be permanently involved with a mortal woman. It was a fact, and there was no use arguing about it any more.
“You know about modern Primes,” he told her.
She moved across the wide bed and stood up, putting mental distance from him as she moved away. “We better talk to your people now.”
She sounded reluctant and unhappy. Her nervousness sang against his senses. She didn’t trust that the Primes were right about the Patron, did she? Her lack of trust reminded him of what Laurent had said about trusting the kin of the Patron.
Right now, all he wanted was to fulfill his vow to destroy the threat the old man posed, then get on with his life. A Prime fulfilled his vows, no matter the consequences and complications to his own life.
But how could he make a mortal woman understand that no matter how much they talked about the history of the Primes?
“Yeah,” he answered Mia, getting out of the opposite side of the bed. “It’s about time we had that talk.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“This is taking too long,” Justinian complained.
He got up and began to pace around the dining room where the Manticores had been invited by their Clan hosts, after hours of being kept in the meeting room. Laurent’s senses told him it was past dawn, though the room was windowless.
Another day living in the lap of luxury—if the Clan mamas don’t decide to kill us or toss us out to fry.
“We are being treated as guests,” he carefully advised the impatient pack leader. “We must have patience.”
“Patience is for the weak Clans. Do they always talk and never act?”
Laurent shrugged.
Belisarius glared across the table at Laurent, then got up and went to stand against a wall. From there he kept his attention on Justinian, playing the loyal subordinate vigilant on his master’s behalf.
Laurent stayed in his seat and continued to sip his dinner. The warmed wine mixture was beyond excellent. In fact, it was the best blood he’d ever had outside its natural container. There were subtle flavors in the mixture that he couldn’t identify. Possibly the brew was laced with some of the drugs the Clans favored.
Drugs that helped them dwell in the daylight? He doubted they’d offer what they considered a gift to Tribe vampires. Especially knowing that the Manticores would pitch a fit, feeling that their bodies were polluted. Well, Justinian would, and Belisarius would follow his lead. More likely, the drugs Laurent tasted were those that helped the Clans keep their blood cravings to a minimum.
Laurent could understand why they might want to feed those drugs to dangerous, uncivilized Tribe members. In his opinion it was akin to chemical castration, but one dose wasn’t going to permanently fix him, so there was no use getting mad about it. Not when it tasted so good. He looked at the goblet after he finished the last sip and placed it on the table.
Could he get a second glassful? Would it be bad for him?
He wondered how long the Clan members could go between natural feedings using the stuff, and why they wanted to. He could understand the advantages of dwelling in daylight, even if other Tribe members couldn’t, but voluntarily turning yourself into a eunuch? He shuddered. Did they do it for the sake of living more openly among mortals? Because they really believed that creatures of the darkness could be good? Hell, it wasn’t as if a vampire had to kill mortals to take their blood—though draining the life out of helpless victims was an appealing prospect.
Laurent smiled.
“Too long!” Justinian shouted.
Laurent looked up to see that the door had opened, and Justinian had yelled at Matri Serisa as she walked in.
“I agree,” she said serenely, and took a seat at the head of the table.
Several people followed her into the room, among them the Garrison woman and her Prime keeper. Laurent hoped the fact that the pair weren’t touching or looking at each other was good for the Manticore cause. The group took seats around the table, leaving the chair to Serisa’s right for Justinian. The Garrison woman sat on the Matri’s left.
Justinian glared at everyone for a few moments, then stalked over and took his seat. “Well?” he demanded.
Serisa looked to her left.
“I’m willing to help.” The mortal woman looked at Serisa when she spoke.
“Willing?” Justinian growled. He brought the flat of his hand down on the shining wood of the table. “The female should not be allowed to speak, let alone set conditions.”
Mia looked at Justinian, temper flaring in her eyes. “You’re a rude jerk, but I’ll help you get your money back.”
Justinian smiled, showing fangs. “And will you help with our revenge as well?”
“Oh, cut out the melodrama,” Foxe said.
Laurent schooled his features and emotions, not wanting to show that he completely agreed with the Clan Prime.
“Of course I’m not helping you get revenge,” Mia said. She looked around at everyone at the table. “If my great-grandfather is doing bad things, I’ll help you stop him.”
“Bad things?” Colin Foxe echoed. “Hon—”
Serisa gestured him to silence. “How will you help us and Tribe Manticore?” she asked Mia. “Will you tell us where to find him?”
“I’ll take you to him,” Mia answered. She looked at Foxe. “I’ll get you in to talk to him, search his compound, whatever you need to stop his operation. But you can’t kill him,” she added. “I won’t let you kill my great-grand-father.”
“That is unacceptable,” Justinian said.
Laurent thought that Justinian spoke just before Foxe would have said the same thing.
“He’s an old man,” Mia said. “He’s in his nineties. Maybe that’s not old to your kind, but among ours that makes him ancient. He isn’t going to live that much longer.”
“Which is why he’s trying to find the secret to immortality,” Foxe pointed out.
“But there isn’t one. So, you shut down his experiments, destroy the research records. You make him forget vampires exist. Do whatever you have to do, short of killing him. You have to promise that,” she insisted, concentrating her plea on Colin Foxe.
While Justinian seethed and Belisarius fought the urge to attack the Garrison woman from behind, Laurent decided it was time to get back to the important point. “We don’t care about the Patron’s medical experiments. We want our money back.”
Mia flashed him a smile. “And that’s the solution right there. Take away my great-grandfather’s wealth, and he can’t fund any mad scientist stuff.”
“And how can you give us his wealth?” Justinian demanded. “Do you know where he keeps a vault full of gold?”
“No, but I know where he keeps his laptop,” the woman answered tartly. “If you can’t find out how to break into his financial records with that, you really are a bunch of pathetic medieval losers, aren’t you?”
After a moment of shocked silence, Justinian mastered his outrage and sneered at her. “And we are supposed to trust you to bring us this laptop?”
“Yes.”
Justinian laughed. “Such calculating openness, such false naïveté. We do not forget the female’s treacherous blood.” He looked earnestly at Serisa. “Do you? Do you really think she will betray her blood?”
“She will bring the laptop to us,” Serisa answered, ignoring Justinian’s skepticis
m. “We will share whatever information we find about the Patron’s finances with you.”
Justinian banged his hand on the table again.
“This is where you’re going to have to compromise, Matri,” Laurent said before Justinian broke into a rage that could turn violently ugly. “From our point of view, you have just told us that you will take charge of the wealth that was stolen from us. You say share information, but what we hear is take what is ours.”
“Don’t the Clans have enough wealth already?” Justinian demanded. “Are you so contemptuous of the Tribes that you would stoop to stealing from us?”
Serisa’s head snapped up proudly. “Of course not!”
Justinian gave a satisfied nod. “Then you cannot object to my sending one of my Primes to retrieve this laptop for us.”
Finally, Serisa nodded.
Justinian looked at Laurent. “You.”
Belisarius stepped forward. “But he—”
“Laurent goes,” Justinian snapped. “Understood?”
Awestruck by the possibilities, Laurent was unaffected by the glares being turned on him not just by Belisarius, but by Fox and the woman, as well. He was also fully aware that Justinian’s question had been aimed him, and of its dangerous implications.
“Understood,” he answered. He smiled at Foxe. “So, partner, when do we assault the Patron’s fortress?”
“No assault!” Mia waved her hands. “No violence. Nobody gets hurt.”
“He’s surrounded by security, isn’t he?” Foxe asked.
“All rich people have bodyguards. They’re just doing their jobs to protect him.”
“We do not want innocent casualties,” Serisa said.
“The Patron uses well-armed, trained mercenaries,” Foxe said. “I’ve fought them; I know what they can do.”
“That was a different time and place.” Barak spoke for the first time. “You destroyed his private army. We do not know if he has had time to rebuild his organization. Mia could be correct about the people currently guarding the Patron. We will approach this operation with an initial nonlethal action plan.”
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