Zane’s Redemption

by Tina Folsom

  “Look at you, all dolled up.” Zane roamed his eyes over her face before his lids dropped as he perused her low-cut top. Her cleavage was clearly visible, and from his vantage point he could most likely see all the way down to her navel.

  “Enjoying the peep show?” she hissed, suppressing the shudder that went through her at the thrill of Zane admiring her boobs.

  One side of his mouth tilted up, but he wasn’t going for a smile. She doubted he knew what a smile was. “You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen already.”

  If he wanted to deliberately hurt her, he’d succeeded. “Jerk!”

  “Unlike you, I don’t care what people call me.” He made a deliberate pause. “Baby girl.”

  Her fists clenched, and before she could even finish her thought, she’d raised them and aimed at his face. Zane was faster. Her fists landed in his palms, which he instantly wrapped around them, preventing her from doing any damage to his arrogant visage.

  “Violent, too?” He shook his head and tsked. “They left that out of your file.”

  File? They had a file on her? “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I know what you’re all about, so don’t think you can get anything past me or—” The ring of a cell phone interrupted his little speech. He released one of her hands and dug into his pocket. “Another attempt at hitting me and I’ll have you hogtied in ten seconds flat.”

  She didn’t doubt his words for even a fraction of a second.

  “Yes?” His tone was more bellow that greeting.

  “Hey, Zane, what’s going on?” Portia heard the male voice on the other end clearly.

  “Quinn, good to hear from you.” Despite his words, Zane didn’t crack even the beginning of a smile. That confirmed it: he was incapable of smiling.

  “Listen, I need a vacation. Do you mind if I come to visit?”

  “No problem. When are you flying in?”

  “I was thinking tomorrow night.”

  “Who’s picking you up from the airport?”

  “I’ll ask Oliver.”

  “I’ll give him a key to the house for you. See you.”

  “Hey, man, are you all right?”

  “Never been better.” Zane disconnected the call and shoved the cell back into his pants.

  If it was true that he was feeling better than ever, then Portia wondered what he was like when he was in a pissy mood. She wasn’t gonna stick around to find out.

  “Now,” he said slowly and focused his gaze back onto her. “Where were you heading?”

  “None of your fucking business.” She twisted her hand from his grip and pivoted, trying to get away from him.

  ***

  Zane wasn’t ready to let go of her and snatched her arms, preventing her from brushing past him. Not that he minded a little brushing here and there. He enjoyed the contact with her body far too much, despite the fact that she held herself rigid.

  If it wasn’t for the old sash window he’d heard grinding against its wooden frame when Portia had opened it, she would have escaped him. Luckily, he had been prepared for her to pull a fast one on him and had refrained from making any noise downstairs so he could hear what she was doing. When he’d heard the doors of her closet close, he’d figured that she was getting changed. It could only mean one thing.

  And he’d been right. The flimsy top she wore screamed ‘fuck me’ as if she’d had it tattooed on her forehead. Her short skirt wasn’t any better. It hid nothing of her amazing figure and her lush curves. Considering her age and her height, she should be skinny as a rail, but instead, her hips were nicely cushioned, and her breasts …

  Zane tore his gaze away and swallowed. It wasn’t good to go down that road. Only a fool would allow himself to be swayed by her enticing package, and he was no fool. She was a job just like any other, and he’d be damned if he'd do anything that could jeopardize his decidedly shaky position at Scanguards. If Samson and Gabriel thought they could throw a wrench into the works by dangling this temptation in front of him to test him, then he’d do his damnedest to pass that test, even if it meant passing up some hot piece of ass.

  “Fine. I don’t care what your plans were, because guess what, they’ve changed.” He released her arms, his palms burning from the touch, the need to press her against him too savage to acknowledge. “Back inside.”

  When she turned to round the side of the building, he grabbed her top and pulled her back.

  Portia whirled around, her hair flying, her face furious. The sight nearly undid him, undermining his resolve to treat her with indifference. “I was going inside,” she bit out.

  Zane shook his head once before motioning to the window above him. Her eyes followed his look. When her jaw dropped, he knew she’d caught onto his thinking.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she protested.

  “Do you see me laughing?” He doubted that he even remembered how to laugh or smile. It had been so darn long since he’d made his facial muscles perform that particular action.

  “And how am I supposed to get up there?” She gestured to the window.

  “You managed to get down on your own. I’m sure you can figure out a way to get back up there.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, waiting and indeed curious to see what she'd come up with. In particular, he wanted to see how she managed to get up that wall and through the window without him getting an eyeful of her hot legs and whatever else she had hidden under that short skirt of hers. While he couldn’t touch, nobody could slap him on the wrist for looking. And he was gonna do some looking, a whole bunch of it. Not that it would aid in tamping down the beast inside him that demanded its due.

  Portia stepped further back into the garden and looked up at the window. Her forehead furrowed as she assessed the situation. He could almost see the little wheels in her mind turn as she narrowed her eyes. She briefly glanced at him and lifted her chin in a clear show of defiance. Suited him fine. He wasn’t here to make friends with her.

  When she suddenly took off toward the back of the garden, he was taken by surprise. It took him half a second to recover and launch into a sprint to follow her. She was about to vault herself over the garden fence when he reached her and pulled her down. Without ceremony, Zane slung her over his right shoulder, her head dangling over his back, his hands imprisoning her legs.

  “Let me go!” she yelled and pounded her fists into his lower back.

  He didn’t care. She was touching him, and at present it was all he could think of. The faster he got her into the house, the more of a chance he had to keep his hands off her, because even the rough treatment she doled out right now was turning him on. Add to that the way he was carrying her, her shapely rump level with his face as if he needed an invitation more obvious, and he’d already lost. He kept her bare legs restrained by his arms, but couldn’t prevent his thumb from straying and swiping over her soft skin in a hushed caress.

  Frustration howled through him, and it had nothing to do with his charge’s failed attempt at escape and everything to do with the thrill he’d felt at the short chase. As if he were hunting prey.

  He deliberately turned his head away from Portia’s sweet backside when he lengthened his stride and moved toward the house, but not even that prevented her female scent from infiltrating his sensitive nostrils and clinging to the tiny hairs inside his nose. The ten second sprint was pure torture.

  And he was a sucker for torture.

  Zane kicked the front door shut with his boot and plopped Portia onto the couch. But if she thought he’d let her off this easily, she was sorely mistaken. Before she could make a move, he was on her, pinning her down with his body hovering over her, daring her to make another attempt at escaping.

  It wasn’t fear that lashed at him from her fiery eyes but annoyance. He ignored it and lowered his head so only an inch of air separated them. One inch away from a kiss if he were so inclined.

  “Maybe I forgot to mention something very important,
” he started. “Let me make it clear to you now: don’t underestimate me. What I say goes.”

  Her breath hit him as she parted her lips, and he drew in the scent. All it served was to make him even harder. If she could feel him, she gave no hint, riling him up even more.

  “I’ll have you fired,” she spat, her breasts rising and brushing against his chest.

  Zane suppressed the urge to groan at the contact. “I’d say join the club, but I’m afraid the membership roster is overly full.”

  “I hate you!”

  He narrowed the gap between them, then slowly turned his mouth to her ear, their cheeks almost touching. He took in a long, deep breath, unable to get enough of her scent. But it wasn’t all he enjoyed: her breasts now connected fully with his chest, her nipples pressing against him. “It seems you keep choosing the wrong clubs to join. Alas this one has a long waiting list as well. You see, I really don’t care who hates me.”

  “Don’t you?” she challenged.

  Zane raised his head to look at her. Her long, curved lashes fluttered for a brief moment before sweeping upwards as her eyes opened fully, her gaze suddenly pinning him with more intensity than before.

  Did Portia suspect that he didn’t want her to hate him, that the emotion he most wished from her was as far away from hate as humanly possible, yet at the same time was only separated from it by a sliver as thin as the thread of control he had left? “Hate is the only reliable emotion left.” Love couldn’t survive the challenges in this world.

  “Hate is the most destructive and useless of all feelings.”

  Zane cocked an eyebrow. “That’s because you’ve never experienced true hate. You have no idea of its power.” It was a power that drove him, that contributed to his survival. Without it, he wouldn’t have survived the first few weeks as a vampire. Only hate had kept him alive then. It had become a trusted companion, one he could rely upon not to desert him.

  “There’s a greater power than hate.”

  “If you’re getting religious on me, you might as well—”

  “I’m talking about love,” Portia interrupted him.

  Instinctively, he pulled back and noticed the responding satisfactory glint in her eyes.

  Her lips quirked. “So that’s what you’re afraid of. Love.”

  Her words catapulted him upright in a millisecond. Zane rose as fast as if she was pointing a stake at his chest. In one fluid movement he turned his back to her. “I think you should go to your room now. It’s past your bedtime.” And safer for you, he wanted to add.

  He heard the sound of the couch cushions as she shifted and stood. “Well, I guess I hit that one out of the park.” Portia marched past him, and from what he could tell, she deliberately brushed her body against his side, the brief touch searing him like a branding iron marred the flesh of a calf.

  “You think your Psych 101 makes you an expert in analyzing people?”

  “I’m a Psych major, so, yes, I do.”

  Pride dictated that he not let her win this argument. “You know nothing about me, and you never will.”

  She didn’t turn as she set her foot on the first stair. Her words were low as she murmured as if talking to herself, but he heard them all the same. “Watch your back, tough guy.”

  Watch yours, or you’ll find yourself on it soon, he wanted to respond but didn’t.

  Chapter Eight

  The door snapped in behind Zane as he entered his foyer, the rising sun on his heels. He’d preyed on an unsuspecting pedestrian on his way home, feeling so agitated by his argument with Portia that he had taken longer than normal to feed. And even after the two full pints of blood he’d taken, his body felt unsatisfied. He knew only too well what he needed to gain the satisfaction his body demanded, but that knowledge didn’t bring him any closer to obtaining what he so desperately sought: a taste of Portia, not simply a kiss or a quick fuck, but more, a taste of her blood, her arousal, her heart.

  Her words and the look on her face when she’d spoken them had whirled his insides up like a tornado ripping through a Midwestern town, leaving only destruction and devastation behind. Suddenly, he hadn’t been the one in charge. She’d taken over the reins and whipped him by exposing his greatest fear.

  To love again.

  He’d loved his parents and his sister. He’d loved the words he’d used to craft beautiful masterpieces. He’d loved the sound of birds singing in the back yard.

  He’d loved life.

  Then they had robbed him of everything: his parents, his sister, and his passion. And finally, his life.

  They’d taken everything away from him because of who he was and replaced it with nothing but a heart full of hatred and a drive for revenge. To love again would only serve as a painful reminder of his loss. The fraction of his soul that was still intact would shatter from the impact of another loss, one that surely would occur if he allowed his heart to soften.

  He’d made a promise long ago that justice would be done. Only if he remained stalwart could he achieve his goal and make good on his promise. Love had no place in his life.

  Zane shrugged off his leather coat and tossed it over the chair in the hallway. His next step landed him in something soft. The accompanying smell he only now registered because he’d been too preoccupied when he’d entered his house, confirmed that he had a mess on his hands.

  “Z!” he yelled. “Where the fuck are you?”

  He knew it had been a bad move to leave the dog alone at home. He should have locked him outside in the yard. Flipping the light switch, Zane lifted his boot and inspected the damage. Great! The grooves of his soles were caked with dog shit.

  “I’m going to kill you, Z!”

  The dog clearly knew his lesson on self-preservation because he didn’t show his snout anywhere. Not that it would save him from punishment. Hiding would only delay the inevitable.

  Fuming, Zane charged into the kitchen and yanked a towel from the rack. As he cleaned up the dog’s mess, he cursed Yvette once more. She could have at least housetrained the pup before palming him off on an unsuspecting new owner. Owner? Not if he could help it. Tonight the dog would be history.

  He tossed the dirty towel on the floor to be disposed of later. His boots landed in the kitchen sink before he stalked barefoot into the living room. It was empty. Well, almost: there was an oversized leather couch facing a monstrous high-definition TV. Apart from those two items, the living room was bare; no rug, no coffee table, no paintings on the white walls. He’d still not gotten around to decorating the place beyond the bare necessities, despite the fact that he’d bought the house over five months ago.

  “Zee-eee, daddy’s home,” he cooed, but the damn animal didn’t respond.

  Zane inhaled and, ignoring the stench from the dog’s shit, he concentrated on the underlying scent of the dog’s fur. He lifted his head. “Gotcha.”

  Making no sound, he walked up the stairs to the second floor and headed for his bedroom. The upstairs floor had originally had three bedrooms, and he’d chosen the largest one, which faced the garden and was leading out to a small deck, as his master bedroom. He’d converted the second bedroom into a large bathroom and dressing room, leaving the second bathroom on this floor as a guest bath. Considering he never had guests, it was an unnecessary luxury. He halted for a moment, remembering that Quinn was due to arrive the next day. He wasn’t sure yet whether to look forward to his visit or dread it. Right now, he had too much stuff on his mind to make a decision about that.

  When he entered his bedroom through the open door, he heard the dog’s shallow breaths. He closed the door behind him, making sure the little pup had no chance to escape. Not seeing the animal in the room, it wasn’t hard to figure out where he was hiding. After all, there was only one item of furniture suitable as a hiding place.

  Zane switched on the light, allowing the forty watt bulb hidden underneath a hideous looking shade he’d inherited from the previous owner to illuminate the room. It reminded him onc
e more that he desperately needed to put his own touch on the rest of the place just as he’d done with the bathroom. But first things first.

  He dropped to the floor and peered under the bed. As expected, Z was crouching underneath it, right in the middle of the king-sized piece of furniture, safe for now. His round eyes were wide as they stared at him. Did that dog know what he’d done, or was he simply reacting to Zane’s fury? Zane took a breather. Hell, he didn’t know the first thing about dogs. He should be the last person to own one.

  “Come on, little Z, be a good dog and come out.” Zane felt like a fool as he coaxed the stupid animal with a voice only reserved for babies and, well, dogs. If anybody saw him like this, he’d have to silence that person forever.

  Z set one paw in front of the other, and, tilting his head, he crawled forward a few inches. Zane reached his hand underneath the bed, but the dog shrunk back from him. He clenched his jaw. Stupid animal!

  “Come now, Z, you must be hungry,” he tempted the pup, dropping his voice to a sweet cooing sound.

  The animal took another few tentative movements toward him. Zane dropped his hand on the floor, laying it flat, palm up. “Come to daddy.” Ah, shit, he was turning into a complete idiot.

  A moment later, Z licked over his palm and came within striking distance. Zane acted, snatching the dog around his neck and pulling him from his hiding place as Z made a futile attempt to dig his hindquarters into the wooden floor, making a scratching sound with his claws.