When Wicked Craves

by J. K. Beck

  She was mist now, as he was. He let his consciousness twine close around her, telling himself he wished to keep her tight against him, fearful that in their weakened state they could become separated even as sentient mist. But even as he told himself that, he knew it was a lie.

  In truth, he wanted a moment of intimacy with this remarkable human. This woman who kept her head when she was thrown from a plane. This woman who now twined her consciousness with his, who was generating a heat and a longing that matched his own. He’d given her his blood and now, even more than before, he could feel her essence in the mist, her consciousness aware despite her humanity. An unexpected reality that stemmed from either her curse or her magical bloodline. But right then he didn’t care, because right then it was desire that was rippling through her, rising and filling as he moved with purpose through and around her, his mind touching her, stroking her, imagining hot flesh and warm blood and soft lips upon skin.

  The need for contact throbbed inside him even as he sensed it growing in her. A wondrous awareness and longing for more. So much more, and he wished he could give it to her. Wished he could transform into himself and strip her naked in the air. Wished he could take her in freefall, the chill of rushing air cooling the heat they generated until they both exploded in a fiery climax that would leave them both desperately satisfied and yet aching for more.

  It was not to be—in the mist there could be only passion, but not satisfaction. And, dammit, right then he needed to focus on getting them safely on the ground, not making the journey there as explosive as possible.

  With regret, he shifted his energy, feeling her essence protest as he mentally pulled back. They were closer now, the earth rising up to meet them, and he put on the brakes, slowing as the high-rises of Manhattan filled his mind’s eyes.

  Around them, the air shimmered as the night began to dissipate, the eastern sun poised to slip above the horizon. He’d not experienced a sunrise or sunset for hundreds of years, and he would not enjoy this one, either. Not and survive. But somehow, what had never troubled him before bothered him now. For he would have liked to have stood with Petra in his arms and felt the sun warm their faces.

  The streets of the city were wide now, so close that the vision of his mind could read the street signs. He found a set of stairs leading to a subway tunnel and slid in, taking refuge from the sun in the darkness of the realm of the underworld.

  Even at this early hour, the station was crowded, and they twined around and among the throng of humans, some of whom moved, almost as if aware that he and Petra were there. Some saw the mist, some wondered, their question “What is that?” following as he sped toward the tracks and finally down deep into the tunnels themselves.

  Safe in the dark, he shifted back, pushing Petra away with reluctance as they changed back, taking care not to touch.

  Her skin was pale, her eyes cloudy, and he feared that he had done her harm.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I knew you’d catch me.”

  He couldn’t help his smile. “Did you?”

  She grinned in return, but he saw a hardness in her eyes. “I changed him,” she said, her expression defiant, as if she anticipated his protests. “I did it on purpose and I don’t regret it.”

  “Good.”

  Her eyes widened slightly, and then, slowly, she smiled. “So who arranged this? Gunnolf?”

  “Most likely.” He forced his daemon down as anger swelled. “Pyre could have been acting on his own, but I doubt it.”

  “Rand?”

  He could see from her face that the possibility that Rand had been in on the treachery disturbed her as much as it did him.

  “I hope the hell not.” He drew in a breath. “Forget it. I’ll call Luke and leave the matter to him.”

  “Call? Do you think a cell phone is a good idea?”

  “As soon as we hid Serge away, we started using disposables. It’s safe.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, looking at her face. “We’ll find the truth about who betrayed us, but right now we have bigger problems.”

  “Right. Of course.” She frowned. “Where are we?”

  “Manhattan. The subway tunnels. It’s almost sunrise.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re weak. You need to rest.”

  She glanced around at the tunnels in which so many of the city’s homeless lived, at the filthy ground littered with everything from plastic wrappers to dead rats to human excrement. “Great.”

  “I have someplace else in mind. It’s not far. Can you walk?”

  “I think so. Where are we going?”

  He met her eyes, knowing that she would appreciate the irony. “Serge’s apartment,” he said, then turned to lead the way.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Holy shit,” Petra said as they stepped into the glass-walled penthouse. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  In front of them, the sun was rising over Manhattan, a city that Petra had never seen but had always wanted to visit. Considering the millions of people crammed onto a tiny island, however, it was also a place that had long ago been checked off her list. Too crowded. Too many possibilities for accidental touching.

  Now that she was here, the thrill of seeing the vibrant metropolis spread out like a picture postcard in front of her was tempered by the fact that Nicholas was standing in front of a wall of windows, and any second now a ray of sunshine was going to hit him dead on. The dead part being literal, considering he’d dissolve into a pile of ash immediately.

  A prospect that troubled her on a number of levels, none of which she wanted to examine closely.

  She hurried to the window and grabbed the cord to close the curtain, then groaned in frustration when the cord had no effect.

  “Nicholas!” she repeated. “Dammit, move!”

  The terror in her voice must have finally gotten through to him, because he turned to her, his expression so satisfied she feared he’d lost his mind and really was suicidal. “Come stand by me.”

  “Dammit, you are not doing this.” Even as she spoke, she knew she should keep her mouth shut. He wanted to cure Serge, after all. And that meant her death.

  Sooner or later, she was going to have to slip away from Nicholas. She was going to have to strike out on her own, with only her wits and, perhaps, her brother to help her avoid the wrath of the Alliance. It would be one hell of a lot easier to get away from the vampire if he were dust.

  But she couldn’t wish that on him. Even had he not saved her life multiple times, she couldn’t bear the thought of knowing that Nicholas Montegue was no longer of this earth.

  No, letting him turn to dust was unacceptable. When she left, she’d do so with him still alive—and undoubtedly pissed off—behind her.

  He’d called her over, and now she was standing in front of him, her back to the window, her body trying to shield his. She was even on tiptoes, wishing she were a few inches taller so that her shadow could better protect his head.

  She was swaying a bit, like an awkward dancer trying to follow a lead, when she realized he was fighting an amused grin.

  She glared at him, and he lost the fight, chuckling as he asked her what the hell she thought she was doing.

  “Saving your ass,” she said curtly. “Though I’m not entirely sure why I’m bothering.”

  “Nor I.” He nodded to the windows. “Serge invented the glass. And although I have always been dubious, fearing that someday I would come to this apartment and find nothing more of my friend than a pile of dust on the floor, I confess that for years I’ve been jealous of his ability to watch the sunrise.”

  “I thought you were Mr. Scientist. Why didn’t you invent the Wonder Glass?”

  “I’m certain I could have.”

  “This is your first time? How long have you and Serge been friends?”

  “A long, long time.”

  “Son of a bitch,” she said, cocking her head to study him. “You di
dn’t invent it—you didn’t even come visit Serge for a sunrise breakfast—because vampires aren’t supposed to see the sun. Somehow you didn’t strike me as a guy who put that much stock in convention.”

  “Maybe that’s why I’m going to watch today,” he said. “Turn around and enjoy Mother Nature’s show with me.”

  She stood beside him, their bodies close but not touching, and she tried to watch the sun with a vampire’s eyes. In a way, she supposed she understood how he felt. He couldn’t bask in the sun. She couldn’t touch another human. Of course, she wasn’t trapped in the darkness, wasn’t bound by the need for blood. And although these thoughts didn’t lessen her certainty that she definitely had the crappier end of the deal, she did feel a tug of camaraderie with him. Something she’d never felt before, not even with Kiril, who had always set himself up as her superior—her protector and salvation—even more than as her brother or her twin.

  She remembered the way she’d felt in the sky—not while they were falling, but once he’d caught her and changed her and twined his essence with her. Desire. At her side, her fingers twitched, and she clenched her hand against the urge to reach for him. She couldn’t, of course, but right then the barrier tossed up by the curse seemed even more monstrous than ever.

  Soon.

  The thought bubbled up from deep within her, confusing at first, and then shifting into something tangible—the knowledge of what was coming. The certainty that tonight had been designed for her.

  A blue moon.

  Something sharp and unfamiliar shot through her, a bolt of desire that left her nipples hard and her sex tingling. It had been years since she’d experienced that desperation that flowed with the moon, and never had she been able to act on it, her brother her only company on that long, lonely night.

  But her brother wasn’t there now. Nicholas was. And though he hadn’t said so, she’d felt his desire when they were mist as surely as she had felt her own.

  She would have him. Dear God, she would have this night with him.

  Antsy, horny, she looked out through the glass and wished the sun were making its trek downward instead of up.

  Patience … she would have to learn patience.

  In front of them, the sun crested a rooftop, sending a sparkling ray straight toward Serge’s windows. It hit the glass, coloring Nicholas’s face in soft yellow light. He closed his eyes, and drew in a breath, and she was awed by the intensity of the pleasure reflected on his face.

  For a moment she envied the sun, because she wanted to do that to him. For once in her life, she wanted to touch a man and see him melt, lost to the power of his own desire.

  Tonight. The word swept through her, soft and sensual, promising delicious things to come. She didn’t want to wait, but about that, she had no choice. And hadn’t she been waiting her whole life? A few more hours would make no difference at all in the grand scheme. On a personal level, though, she’d be a wreck by the time the sun set and the blue moon hung full in the sky.

  Beside her, Nicholas sighed, then turned to face her, his eyes taking her in, as if he knew her secrets. She smiled, content with the knowledge that what was in her head was her own.

  Of course, a man like Nicholas—both experienced and with vampiric senses—could probably sense her desire. The thought startled her, but it didn’t embarrass her. She wanted him. And about that she refused to be ashamed.

  She nodded toward the window. “I’m glad you got to see your sunrise. How long has it been?”

  “Too long,” he said.

  She stood beside him, trying to look at the sunrise through his eyes. For a few moments, the silence hung comfortably between them, and she wished that they could stay that way for a while. Together, easy. But nothing was easy right then.

  She drew in a breath and turned from warm sunrises to cold practicality. “Are we safe here?”

  He indicated the glass. “Apparently so.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  “We should be safe,” he said. “Serge has protections on the apartment that should shield them from being able to detect your magic, though as you say, it’s minute enough that we might be safe anyway. Perhaps Kiril could find you, but we’re thousands of miles away, and even if he—or the Alliance—approaches, there are security monitors planted around the building and breach detectors. We’ll have advance warning if we have to run.”

  “Oh.” Somehow that didn’t make her feel better. Already she was tired of running. And with tonight’s moon, she didn’t want to be racing for her life.

  He was watching her, his expression gentle. “I think we are safe here, at least for a bit. Try not to worry.”

  She swallowed, embarrassed he could read so much in her face. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about how I acted on the plane,” she said. “About being a bitch after my nightmare, I mean.”

  “No need to apologize. After all, you were upset, and I was trying to provide some small amount of comfort. It makes perfect sense that would disturb you.” He grinned, and she laughed.

  “I’m a complex individual, Nicholas. Get used to it.”

  “Most people call me Nick.”

  “Am I most people?”

  His grin stretched wide. “No. You most definitely are not.” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as a scientist might examine a new specimen. She kept silent, afraid to ask what new thing he saw in her. “It’s not a weakness, you know.”

  “What?”

  “You were mad at me because I provided something you were unable to give to yourself. Comfort.”

  “What are you? Freud the vampire?”

  “Nothing so ill conceived, I assure you. But I am observant.”

  “I like the way you talk, you know. Like every once in a while you forget what century you’re in.”

  “Sometimes, I think I do forget. After so many centuries, you find that time begins to feel as though it’s circling back upon itself.”

  “Can I ask you something?” She spoke before she could stop herself, and once the words were out, she knew she couldn’t call them back, though she knew she might be treading on dangerous ground.

  “That depends on the question.”

  “Right.” She certainly knew how that went. “It’s just that when we were back in Los Angeles … the way you were with Lissa, I mean. The way you stood. The way you looked at her. Were you in love with her once? You know. Before.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, and she tensed, afraid he would ask her why she cared, and that wasn’t a question she could answer because she didn’t know herself. All she knew was that she wanted to ask the question.

  “I was,” he said.

  “Are you still?”

  “No.” That time, the answer came quick and certain, and when he lifted his eyes to look at her there was no hesitation. “I was … angry. For a long time. But it’s getting better.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  He cocked his head, his brow furrowing in question. “What?”

  “She was the one, right? The one who betrayed you. The one that made you want to go see Ferrante again.”

  He took a step back, then ran his hands through his hair. “Are you really this perceptive? Or am I so transparent?”

  She shrugged and tried to flash a lighthearted grin. “I have mad PI skills,” she said. “Or maybe you’re transparent to me.”

  She saw the laughter flash in his eyes and smiled in return, liking the way that talking to him made her feel. Liking it enough that it made her tongue loose, too, which wasn’t good, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I’ve never been in love,” she said. “I tell myself I’m lucky, because it means my heart’s never been broken.” Her smile was crooked. “I’m an expert at lying to myself.”

  “You are lucky,” he said, and she caught a glimpse of the man behind the reputation. The man who went from woman to woman, never staying. Never getting close. “Love is a damn sharp sword.�
�� He looked up slowly, then met her eyes. “Desire, however …”

  He let the thought trail off, then he moved toward the couch, leaving her to analyze his words. To wonder, and to hope. And to look at him hard and notice, for the first time, how pale he was, and how stiff his movements seemed to be. And when he sat, she got a good look at the jacket he’d buttoned quickly after they’d shifted from mist to human. A jacket that was slowly becoming stained with blood.

  “Nicholas? What the hell is wrong with your chest?” She hurried to stand in front of him. “The bullet? Why hasn’t it healed?”

  “It will,” he said.

  “Open it,” she demanded.

  He complied, and she gasped in horror at what she saw—a section of his chest exposed to the bone, raw and bloody.

  “Holy shit,” she said. “What did you—”

  “Hematite,” he said. “The bullet was hematite.”

  “But—but you got it out.” Her mind was spinning. Of course he got it out. He would have had to in order to transform. But then why was he still so injured? Vampires healed at a remarkable rate. Even a wound that large should have closed by now. “What do you need?” she asked. “What can I do?”

  “I need to sleep,” he said. “And I need to feed. There is nothing you can do.”

  The words were like a slap on the face, and she shook her head, then knelt before him, speaking before she’d even had time to think about it. “Yes there is,” she said. “You can feed off me.”

  Nick looked at her, so earnestly there in front of him, and even through the thick sludge of exhaustion, his body responded, tightening with need at the very thought of her offer. An offer that he couldn’t accept.

  “Are you trying to get rid of me, Petra?” he said with an indulgent smile.

  “No, I—” She cocked her head. “Not now. Sleep now. But tonight. When the moon rises. Can I—I mean, will you feed from me tonight?”

  “What are you—” And then he remembered. The blue moon.