Love is Fear

by Caroline Hanson

  “I understand,” she whispered, and then she kissed him slowly and thoroughly. He opened his mouth for her, let her inside, wanting her to take him piece by piece and put him back together however she wanted.

  She spoke softly, “In Café Rouge, I touched you. In my dorm room, I reached out. In Italy. I always come to you. I’m the one who can’t resist, while you watch and wait. You take what I give, tell me when to stop, and offer me nothing in return.” Her hands were in his hair, slid down to the base of his neck, nails trailing down him like silken claws.

  “I’m giving you something,” he said harshly and pushed her down, seating himself to the hilt inside of her body. He gasped at the sensation, felt a tremor inside of him, his cock harder.

  Deeper. Get deeper.

  She whispered in his ear, and the sensation tickled down his spine. “You give me this because you were forced to. You gave me the information about being an Empath because I was in your dreams. You don’t give me anything voluntarily. And you won’t take my blood either. And this—” She slid up and down his shaft. Leaving. Taking herself away.

  Stay still, it does not matter. This is a game. Be patient. He put his hands on the bed, marked the passing of time in seconds. This was important, the pounding of his cock overrode everything, told him what he needed to do was take her, do what she wanted…but something was happening here.

  Slow down.

  No. He wanted to throw her on the bed. Instead, he fisted his hands in the sheets. Every muscle in his body locked into place as he held himself still. Don’t give in. Don’t move. Voluntarily. What do I give voluntarily? What could she possibly mean?

  His heart was pounding, each beat sending more blood into his overstuffed cock. He lifted a hand an inch off the bed. He was going to give it to her. There was no question about that. He needed to…wait.

  Do not touch her, do not grab her hip, or sink home. She was so wet. So close. He could feel the entrance of her body as she stayed poised above him, expectant. He wanted to look down and see how close his cock actually was to her. It felt a million miles away. But her heat was there. She dipped down onto the crown of him, and he closed his eyes. Had to. Lucas bit the inside of his lip to keep from yelling, praying she would not notice the betraying gesture.

  She slid down onto him and he groaned. She rose back up and he wanted to beg for her to stay. The fact that he wanted it made him hesitate. The hot wetness of her….

  Think.

  “I’m not satisfied, Lucas. I need more than this. I need—”

  He tilted his head up so his lips were beneath hers, eyes so close—as if he really was about to beg her. “Are you giving me an ultimatum? Already, you tell me you will….” What? Go to another? Leave? Hate him? Force him? He couldn’t think. Didn’t know.

  What was he supposed to say? Someone needed to tell him what he was supposed to say. His chest felt tight in panic, he felt the need to come in every fiber of his being, the urge to drink her down and watch her swallow his blood. She was in him already. Didn’t she know? Wasn’t that enough? Couldn’t she see the panic and the fear in him? Couldn’t she feel it? He’d compromised!

  “What are you saying? You’ll leave me if I don’t do what you want?” His voice was cold, as blinding as the Arctic. Stay cold.

  “I’m telling you how I feel,” she said.

  She was lying. This was a threat. “I’m a King and a man—I offer you that.” I’m thirsty and empty. I need to possess you and keep you. I’ll tie you to the bed and make sure you never leave if you force it. He had to get distance, get out of here, or she’d know what a wreck he was.

  This was awful. He felt like he’d woken from a bad dream. Couldn’t remember what it was, knew that there was nothing to be scared of but terror pulsed through him.

  No change in expression. Nothing altered. Lucas kept his breathing the same, clutched hard for shards of his broken control. I will do this.

  She squeezed his biceps. “You know what I mean. Does it bother you to think that I might leave you? You say it like you don’t care if I leave here right now and never came back.”

  Val hoped she sounded tougher than she felt. Could she convince him she’d leave him? Even though she was so filled with his cock, so exhausted from hours of multiple orgasms that she could barely move, let alone walk out the door.

  His gaze narrowed and his nostrils flared as he shifted her, forcing her to lean back on his braced forearm, exposing her body so he could slip his hand between them. Without the slightest hesitation, he began pushing her towards another orgasm. It was almost relentless, felt disconnected somehow, like he’d closed down and was looking outside of himself at the both of them.

  “You’d leave me?” he said fiercely, “leave what I can give you?” And, by the end of the question, she was on the edge—so close. His words were a hazy blur, but she got them. She heard the message. You won’t leave me. Only I can give you this. Where else would you go? I’ll make you a slave to your own desires.

  She grabbed his wrist as hard as she could, felt her nails digging into his flesh as she forced him to stop touching her.

  “Yes, I will,” she said defiantly. He needed to know she was more than this. More than her body and need. The Empath part of her was new and foreign. She was still the same person she was before. She had already left him once, and she could do it again.

  “No, my Valkyrie, I am made for you. Just as you are made for me.” He looked down her body, at her heaving breasts, at her hand that shook, being so close, and yet so far away from satisfaction. “You won’t.” And then he twisted out of her grip, and his hand was back between her legs, his mouth kissing her breast.

  He was right. It didn’t matter.

  No! It did. “Dammit,” she said, her fist hard in his hair to pull him away from her while she again grabbed his wrist, pulling him from her body. The hardest thing she’d ever done.

  “If you want me to stay and choose you, you have to give me something too,” she said and sank down on him. “You’re a king, but you won’t be able to keep me.” She kissed him, pulled back, spoke the words into his mouth, so that he would take them into his lungs, feel them slide through his veins. “I’ll leave you, Lucas. I will.”

  “You take my cock inside you, bring me to climax again and again. Even now, you slide up and down my shaft to make your point. Now you will change tactics? Accuse me of being a coward?” His words were getting quieter and quieter as he spoke, more intense and meaningful.

  This emotion in him was a fire, and his words came out, burned down low. “And none of that matters.” His words were angry. He grabbed her hips, impaled himself within her. “The only thing that matters to me is keeping you. I have warned you and told you but…” He shook his head angrily, stood in a smooth motion, his hand on her ass, keeping her fused to his body before he turned back to the bed and lifted her off of him, tossing her back onto the mattress. His intensity was almost tangible, like a soft glow around him.

  Yes! She thought with a dark, almost-malevolent pleasure, and she wondered if she’d said it aloud and not noticed because his eyes widened and, for the briefest moment, he checked himself. Stood still. Uninvolved, uncaring, inhuman.

  Her legs fell open, wide as she could, watching hungrily as her movements jerked him into action, made him utter some noise halfway between a growl and a sign of frustration. He prowled up her body, took his cock in hand, and she watched him stroke it, his long, artistic fingers stroking himself from base to tip.

  “All right. You have done it. You have called my bluff. I will not let you go. I will do anything to keep you with me. But believe me when I say that the day will come when we both regret it.”

  And then he moved, grabbed her hips and shoved himself inside of her in one exquisite move. She cried out in ecstasy. His hand was back in her hair, a hard fist as he ground her mouth against his. Hard. Lips pressed to bruise.

  He sucked her lower lip into his mouth. His whole body was on edge, aliv
e, shaking. The whole world stopped. The moment she would remember for the rest of her life as the day everything changed again.

  Life had changed when her mother died. Life had changed when Lucas came to her and saved her. Changed when she chose Jack. And now, it was changing again—for the final time— not just a decision, but an irrevocable, final, ending point.

  His fang pierced her, just the lightest prick. The faintest hint of copper filled her mouth. Barely a drop. The tiniest amount, but she understood the moment it touched him.

  It was impact. Something that seared and scorched.

  A perfect moment like praying in church, asking for a miracle and opening one’s eyes to find sun streaming through the stained glass, illuminating the world in a new and profound way.

  She was two people—herself and that tiny sparkle of blood that trembled on his tongue. And then he swallowed, the cords of his neck moving, his gaze locked on hers.

  He licked his lips again and watched her. It ran through him, exploded into his veins, and she closed her eyes as feeling swamped her. She could see him behind her eyelids, as if his image was now burned in her brain. That little drop of blood, just the faintest piece, and she knew its progress, felt it warming him like striking flint in a snowstorm. So small, yet essential.

  One of them would die without it.

  This was what she was made for. Lucas was suddenly on her, in her, almost savage in his need for her. They were the same now—her gasps were his, his cries echoed in her. She felt him thrusting inside of her, felt the climax building behind her pelvic bone, each shudder a ricochet to her core and beyond. This time it would be enough, this time would be different than all the ones before. He called her name, his hand on her jaw, forcing her to look at him as he pumped into her.

  “Come. Come for me. Come with me.”

  And she did. The last thought she had before she slept, as he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her and shielded her with his body, was that she wanted him to do it again. One day, she would have to know what it would be like if it was more. If he drank and drank and drank until there was nothing left.

  Chapter 16

  Jack’s steps slowed as he approached his apartment building. Rachel was sitting on the steps, and he barely managed to bite back a curse. She looked up and gave him an overly-cheerful smile. Her hair was cut in a choppy way, almost grazing the shoulders of her black leather jacket. She had jeans on and black boots, as if she was ready to spend an evening bar-hopping.

  He put the key in the lock and opened the door, holding it open so she could follow him in. She stood there, looking at him for a long moment. He supposed one of them should say something.

  “You want a written invitation?” he said unhappily, getting a slightly better grip on the door she had yet to walk through.

  “Are you inviting me in?”

  “Sure.” He looked at her flatly.

  “Why, Jack. I don’t know if I should be flattered that you trust me not to kill you or offended because you trust me not to kill you.” Her smile was bright and artless. A happy, vacant sort of smile he might associate with a cheerleader. Or, in her case, a hooker.

  Expression blank. “In or out.”

  “Oh, in,” she said, sauntering past him, a cloud of perfume in her wake, the words suggestive.

  He stomped past her, up the landing to his door, opening that, too. She followed him inside, watching as he set a grocery bag on the table. His apartment was Spartan. Not even a picture on the wall. The paint was old and peeling.

  “So, how long have you lived on Lucas’ doorstep?” she asked.

  “He’s miles away,” Jack said, taking beer out of the bag and walking into the miniscule kitchen.

  “The Czech Republic is his. You’re in Prague. You’re pissing on his doorstep.”

  “Well, I’d rather kill him on his doorstep than piss on him, so I think I’m being quite civilized,” he said, shutting the fridge door.

  She blew out a breath, waiting impatiently while he used a bottle opener on his beer. “Where is Valerie these days?”

  Jack took a sip, swallowed and waited. Rachel would tell him eventually. He refused to ask her.

  A small smile formed on her lips, conveying a lot. I can wait too, the smile said. And she did. There was a clock somewhere nearby, and it was ticking.

  Eventually, she sighed and spoke first. “Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. Get your stuff, and let’s go,” Rachel said, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Now?” he asked, voice rising in surprise.

  “Yeah. I hate to tell you, Jack, but you’re behind on this one. He’s bagged and tagged her. They’re going to Roanoke tonight. In about twenty minutes, actually. So if you want in….”

  For a moment he thought the beer would come back up. “Tell me you’re lying.” His words were a whisper

  “No. I’m not.” The barest pause. The sort of pause someone gave when they had to give bad news, but didn’t want to be the one to do it. “Sorry, Jack, but she’s already with Lucas. She told him she’d help him, and Lucas wants me there tonight.”

  “When?” he asked, angrily.

  “When what?”

  “How long ago did she contact him?”

  “Uh. Not sure. My guess would be recently,” she said, not looking at him, staring fixedly at the worn-looking couch.

  “Why?”

  “If you’re coming, go get your stuff. But keep in mind, no weapons,” she said, giving him a don’t-try-to-pull-any-crap expression.

  “I’m not going without weapons,” he said.

  She rolled her shoulders. “I can’t take you to my King and have you be armed. We both know you want to kill him. And I can’t help you with that.”

  “You don’t trust him. He’s hurt you. Why do you care if I try to kill him? Christ, you’ve tried to kill him.”

  “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. But if you want to try to kill him, leave me out of it. Do it on your own time. I won’t bring you armed.”

  “You’d let me go in there defenseless?” He was studying her carefully.

  She looked him over for a moment, like she was trying to read him. And suddenly anger blossomed inside of her, like a bullet that explodes on impact. “Why wouldn’t I, Jack? You’re a means to an end. We both have an agenda. You don’t like me. You don’t trust me. You hate me. You’d rather kill me than look at me. So stop dicking around with this act like we’re buddies, or are on the same side. I’m out for me. And you’re doing this for you and for her.” She shook her head, dragging her fingers through her hair. “But you can bring a knife or two,” she grumbled after a moment.

  “Why are you letting me bring a knife?”

  She blew out a breath. “Because you’d be just as likely to kill him with a knife as you would with a crayon. Fuck, Jack. Tell me you’re smarter than this. Tell me you have some sense of self-preservation. He will kill you if he can justify it. You can’t let him do it out of self-defense.”

  “She’d never forgive him.”

  “Oh, dear. That sounded perilously close to suicide talk—which is just pathetic.”

  “No, it isn’t. I will kill him. And I may die doing it. But I will choose my moment,” he said, voice deep with promise.

  “God save us from religious fruitcakes. That’s what you sound like right now. Like this is some kind of jihad or kamikaze trip. Jack, listen”—she stepped closer to him—“if we find the Fey, they will do everything they can to kill Lucas. Everything. Your best chance is with them. And let’s not forget your real prize. Marion is your real prize. Don’t make a move on Lucas until the Fey bullshit is done. Wait until I get Molly out from the witches. If you can wait, I swear, I’ll get you Marion myself.”

  She wanted to hit him, cover herself away, anything so he’d stop looking at her like that—like if he kept looking he’d see into the heart of her.

  “I heard you cried when it happened,” Jack said. It caught her unawares—a slap from the dark.

 
“And I heard you were terrible in the sack. That doesn’t mean it’s true.”

  “Just because one thing is a lie, doesn’t mean the other is,” he said, ignoring the jibe. Why was she offering him Marion?

  “You’re right—you can be terrible in the sack. That’s all yours.”

  “Did you cry?” he asked, and this time he took a step closer.

  “Who cares? What does it matter?”

  “I can’t believe you’d give me Marion. I don’t. But I know Lucas could kill me without trying. I’m not an idiot. Give me five minutes to get my things.”

  “Wait.” She rolled her eyes then said, “I don’t want to keep having this conversation—this heart-to-heart bullshit really wears me out. So, let me give you the idiot’s guide – me vampire, you tasty. Our goals are the same for a small window of time. That’s it.”

  “Then, you did cry,” he said slowly, trying to make the pieces fit. Was she lying to him and would save Marion the moment she could? Had she burned Marion’s picture and celebrated because she knew he was coming over? Where was the lie? Did she love Marion or not?

  “Who fucking cares? Yeah, I cried. That doesn’t mean you know my motivations. I had to get Lucas off my back, and he needed to think I was invested in getting her out. Or, I really do care about Marion and my plan went wrong. In which case, I’m gonna bust Marion out of the clink the first chance I get. My crying tells you nothing,” she snarled and grabbed the bottle of beer out of his hand, taking a drink of it before going to his couch and sitting down, giving him her back.

  “I’m leaving in five. Lucas will be pissed if I’m late.”

  Chapter 17

  Roanoke wasn’t what Val expected. She’d looked on the internet, knew the land was owned by the state, that people came to visit and have a look at the place where one of the first English colonies was set up. And, of course, the most interesting part was the enduring mystery of what had happened to the colonists all those centuries ago. But seeing it was different.