Rourke precisely cut his meat and measured a forkful. She shoveled in a heaping mouthful, too hungry to take her time.
“Bar fight,” he answered. “After I was free, I had nowhere to go. I fed off unsuspecting humans in alleyways like the vampires in B-movies. What money I stole, I drank away in a bar until it was time to stumble into some abandoned building to pass out during the day.”
He swirled his glass of wine, studying it. “Betty seems to know what I drink. Anyway, Demetrius came in one day. I hated him on principle. Rich. Arrogant. Laughed too much.”
Grace’s lips twitched. That would’ve pissed Rourke off.
“After I drank the rest of my money, I challenged him. We went at it until we got kicked out, then we brawled outside. We were both drunk so it was a draw. As we were choking each other, I gritted out how I hated how our world worked. Prime families monopolize all the resources, pit the commoners against each other for work until they turn into the monsters humans fear. I hated us all. Prime, commoners, shifters, even humans.”
He still did. Bitterness tainted his words that wasn’t related to the retelling of his story.
“The fucker started laughing. He released me and asked what I wanted to do about it. The way he said it. The crafty bastard was already planning something. Whatever he was up to, I wanted in. He brought me in with the whole team. Bishop, Creed, Zoey, and Ophelia all went to prep school with him. They heard things about corruption in our government, started checking on them, and secretly began laying the groundwork for their big coup.”
“He mentioned that.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I forget you missed all that.” He scowled into his wineglass. “Consider yourself fortunate. Basically the organization your parents worked for was run by our vampire government. Our team infiltrated them, turned them over, and buried them. That’s the short version, anyway.”
Grace placed her plate on the end table. She had one major question, and it’d either end the night or open up an avenue for conversation. “Your name is Ozias Rourke? Why didn’t you tell Demetrius about the messages at the scene?”
Rourke’s jaw clenched. His fork warped under his grip. “No one knew my full name until tonight. I let Demetrius assume Rourke was my first name. I let them all assume I’m from a prime family.”
“Are you sure they don’t know?”
He scoffed. “I respect Demetrius more than any male I’ve ever met, but do you see a plethora of commoners surrounding him? I wouldn’t have been allowed into his inner circle if he knew I was just a Rourke.”
So certain. She switched conversation topics. There had to be a ray of not-depressing light somewhere in his past. “Do you remember anything good from your childhood.”
“Nothing before I was sold for my blood and body. Nothing afterward obviously.”
She guarded her expression. Of course blood slave meant he was supplied for more than food. “Why would they do something like that?”
His attention caught the curvature of the fork. He hastily dropped it on his plate and stood, picking up her dishes, too. “My kin were swindling, sleazy people who cheated their way through life. They could make a buck off me, so they did.”
His back remained toward her while he cleaned up the remnants of their meal. It was a metaphor for the wall he just reinforced between them. End of conversation.
“I’m going to shower,” she announced. Gathering her duffel bag and backpack, she left her laptop bag rest where it was.
Going through the motions of cleaning herself, her mind pinged from the events since she’d left for a hike to her next lesson plan for the kids. Her life didn’t need to be completely ruined. She could save her job, and she would need the money. She had nothing now except the charity of this group. She would have to keep her job. Wait, Grace Otto was done and gone. She had a solid reputation with the kids she tutored, but it was best for all of them if she resigned. But she could find a new online tutoring program; there were always openings. She could get a little sleep, beg Betty for Wi-Fi access, fill out a few applications, and upload.
Kids. Please let Ari be all right. Daylight imprisoned all vampires. She just hoped it did the same for his captors, that nothing more horrible than what Ari had already been through would happen. If only he’d been abducted by loving adoptive parents, but that situation was a bit like lightening striking in the same place twice.
Silence hung over the room when she stepped out of the bathroom. No big surprise Rourke cut and run. That he stayed for dinner reflected the inner turmoil he faced.
She was tired, but not cozy into sleep tired. Perhaps she could concentrate enough to record a lesson. Padding out into the sitting area, she pulled up short.
Asleep in the chair, slumped back, was Rourke. His head rested on the top of the seat, legs stretched out and crossed. Seizing a moment to study his features, her eyes roamed his face.
His patrician features were revealed when the hardness of his angles softened in slumber. Arching brows, a strong, straight nose and lips that had touched hers in wonder last night. The charcoal color of his clothing highlighted the olive tone of his skin.
The slope of his body as he reclined enraptured her. His slacks draped over prominent thigh muscles, the sweater rested on his hard stomach and was drawn across his chiseled chest. He was a beautiful male specimen. So unlike the humans she’d dated. Virile, dangerous, and with more layers than he let anyone glimpse. Sinful eyes and full lips that’d make an angel fall.
Isn’t that what he’d called her in the woods?
A furrow creased his brow. His mouth pulled down in a frown. A second later, his features smoothed.
Nightmares for everyone, she mused.
Tiptoeing, she bent to retrieve her laptop.
A whoosh of air precluded Grace being lifted and pressed against the wall. Six-feet-three inches of seething vampire secured her at the throat and waist. The faraway glaze in his eyes was like a camera rolling through bad memories.
“Rourke,” she rasped, “wake up.” Her lungs were running out of air. If he didn’t let up, she’d pass out and be at the mercy of a vampire reliving a nightmare.
Menace tightened his grip, his fangs bared, and oh…like the rest of him they were huge. Used for pleasure, it’d be an ecstatic experience. Used for violence, deadly.
She released the wrist he held at her throat and caressed his face. He propelled backward, and she slammed to the floor, gasping for breath.
“Grace?” Fully awake, horror flushed his expression. “Oh shit, did I hurt you?”
He dropped to his knees and with a gentle touch, lifted her to him. Her breathing eased, her initial distress diminished, and she clung to him. He pulled her close.
Her lips touched his neck with a soft kiss of invitation. He groaned, easing his mouth down to hers.
She met him with reserve. This time it was going to last. She rested her hands on his shoulders, prepared for him to bolt any second. He shivered under her fingers. Encouraged, she swept them along his torso. Fiery heat seeped through his soft sweater. He opened his mouth to delve into hers.
Grace’s inside’s fluttered when his hands swept under her nightshirt. They might actually go further than a kiss.
Yesss.
His smoky, rich flavor made her want to plant a row of hickory trees just for burning, so she could replicate his scent when he wasn’t around. But nothing could match the experience of Rourke.
As their tongues twined, Grace protected her fangs as much as possible. Nothing was going to come between them today. Heat built until she held a raging inferno within her core that screamed for the male to satisfy her. It stole her breath having never known lust this strong. When was the last time she’d been this turned on?
She been around good-looking men before. And while none of them possessed Rourke’s exotic features and intensely coiled personality… No, no one compared. That was her answer to why the male affected her so.
He leaned her back, strong ar
ms encircling her in a protective embrace until her back hit the floor. He hovered over her, pushing her pants down and her shirt up, while he was still connected to her via their kiss.
When he broke away, she gasped for air. His hands on her bare skin short-circuited her brain, making her forget things like breathing and heartbeat. It was all non-essential beyond his touch.
His lips fastened around a breast, and, oh god…can a girl come from that?
When his fingers slid down her sex to separate her, she moaned. Her eyelids drifted shut, but she snapped them open again to watch him lick a circle around her nipple. Then his fingers separated her until his thumb found her clit.
Burying her hands in his hair, she lost herself to his caress.
She met each stroke, rocking her hips, bringing her closer to an impending explosion, one that promised to be stronger than any in her past.
What past? It all felt like amateur games before this moment on the floor with her damaged vampire who touched her so intimately. Who allowed her touch. Who remained completely oblivious to the twisting of his hair. The thrill that her body absorbed his attention, dragging him away from his phobias was more intoxicating than any liquor around her parent’s fire pit.
When he pushed a finger inside, a hoarse cry ripped from Grace’s throat. She hitched her knees up, straining for his thrusts.
With a growl, he removed his hand leaving her bereft for two seconds before his tongue replaced it.
Her hands dropped from his hair to claw at the floor. If she’d thought his hand was on fire, his tongue virtually sent up steam tendrils.
Powerful hands gripped under her ass, pulling her closer.
The climax hit hard and fast. Grace cried her ecstasy until she felt sharp fangs strike her thigh. Air sucked into her lungs cutting off her cry. Pleasure swamped her until she knew nothing but the quakes of orgasm and fierce pulls on her vein, the combination blowing her ever-loving mind.
As he withdrew, she shuddered at the gentle swipe of his tongue.
She needed him inside of her. Sitting up, she tugged at his sweater.
Shock registered on his face, and he clambered back. “I still stink of the club.” He removed the sweater and shredded it, his muscles bunching with each tear.
She reached for him, unabashed at her nudity. “Rourke. That sweater must’ve cost a fortune.”
The stench of Manka was not a concern. She believed Rourke hadn’t fucked her. His hesitance during their intimacy wasn’t an act. Physical touch was not a daily occurrence for the male.
“I’m not a poor street rat anymore.” He deposited the remnants in the garbage and turned to face her. “What is it about you, Grace?” His tone wasn’t insulting, it wasn’t passionate. He’d returned to his emotionless state. Or so he wanted to fool himself. “You make me want things better left alone.”
“Why?” she challenged. “We both want each other. We’re both adults.”
“No, angel. You’re a good person. You deserve a good life. I live to hunt scum.” He made a disgusted noise, his hands dropping to his hips. “I can’t be weakened by emotions. And when you find your true mate, you don’t need me as baggage.”
“Emotions don’t make us weak.” While she paled in comparison to him physically, her inner being had been nurtured and formed into a strong female.
“I need to control myself.” He gestured to his manhood. “Look at what you do to me. I don’t get hard. Not until a female is secured with her legs spread, her labia separated, and only then do I fuck her.”
Grace’s brows shot up at the description. And her body thrummed, even after what they’d done. “I’m sure it wasn’t always that way.” From the way his jaw worked, she nailed it. “The more time that passes, the more control you think you need, the more phobic you become about others.”
“You don’t know anything.” His half-hearted statement fell flat between them.
Bull. Shit.
At her dubious expression, he spun toward the door. “I’m going back to my place.”
She let him.
Chapter Seven
Rourke stared at his ceiling. Hands folded across his stomach and an erection that wouldn’t fade resting on his hipbone.
What a shitty day.
He hadn’t slept, tried to mediate and failed. Something tugged at his consciousness. It had to do with Grace, but it didn’t. The weirdest thing he couldn’t fucking explain.
He’d come back, cleaned Manka and the sex room’s stench from himself, trashed his pants, and lay on his safe haven—his bed. As the rays of sunset faded in the sky, his body told him it was time to hunt.
He reached across his bed and dialed Bishop.
“I need you to watch over Grace and look for the missing kid. I’m hunting my brother. Alone.”
“Those weren’t Demetrius’ orders.”
“No. They weren’t.”
Bishop paused. He was going to cave; Rourke discerned him well. Bishop’s reaction to Demetrius’ command had unsettled him and it was personal. His partner had been distracted the past few weeks. Another curse to pile on Rourke’s family—he was too damn busy dealing with his own drama to be of service to Bishop.
“I will inform him,” Bishop said. “You have twenty minutes.”
Rourke swung his legs down. Time to leather up, strap on his weapons, and reunite with his big brother.
***
Grace stuck close to the massive vampire. They were in a questionable part of Freemont she never realized existed. Disguised as a dive on the outside but a swanky country club on the inside, the environment was completely foreign to her. Expensive labels, painted faces, and gelled hair, and the activities… Grace watched premium cable, she’d seen some risqué things—on TV. But the sexual activities, just what was done in the public areas, far surpassed her imagination. The stench of sex seeped into the furniture, the walls, the floor. When she left, she was going to smell as bad as Rourke had.
Why did all of her musings land on that frustrating male?
“Our best shot at a lead on the kid is in this place,” Bishop murmured to her, his tone apologetic.
“I’m a bit out of place.” A zebra print headband contained her wild curls. A long-sleeved athletic tee paired with a fresh pair of jeans…she might as well be dressed in fluorescent from head to toe.
He glanced down in surprise. Typical dude, it hadn’t occurred to him. “I think we can use it to our advantage. Play along.”
His meaty fist wrapped around her arm and he dragged her behind him.
“Hey!”
They earned a fair share of swiveled heads.
“Bishop,” a throaty voice purred, “you know we don’t like commoners among our ranks.” An Elvira worshipper slunk up to them and tilted her head, studying Grace.
Bishop tugged Grace closer as if protecting her from the old-world, elegant vamp.
Grace blatantly eyed the female in return. Her first thought was she didn’t like this world. The dismal second thought reminded her it was her world now. No more middle class America where she worked behind a screen and flitted through the human world after dark blending in. But then in her opinion, class wasn’t born, something this female didn’t understand.
“She smells like him. Do you two share now?” She nodded knowingly. “Of course he shares. I should know. No wonder you had to bring her here. His favorite room is in the back.”
Just like Grace didn’t share her work laptop with anyone, she wasn’t sharing her body. Play along, she reminded herself.
“Yes,” Bishop replied. “He’ll be here shortly. I’ll make my way back to secure her, but I need a drink first.”
Her husky chuckle was partly sinister, partly fond of Bishop. Her fingers drifted over the expanse of his shoulder. “You will learn to enjoy it. I never understood why you don’t have the stomach for the play. A vampire’s strength is wasted on the human women you frequent.”
“I’m not picky; they’re just plentiful.”
Grace wanted to choke on her own vomit. Why did the thought of Bishop getting down and dirty make her feel like she’d interrupted Nathaniel after a too long shower?
“Oh, look at the poor commoner,” the Elvira vampire purred. “We’re scaring her. When Rourke’s done with her, I’ll finish him off the right way.”
“Get your sense of smell in line,” Grace snapped. “It’s disgust. Guess this commoner’s senses are more refined.”
The female bared her fangs, lunging for Grace. Bishop stopped her with a hand at her chest.
“Leave it. She’s a free vampire, and she responded to your insult. Nothing more.”
Elvira ran her tongue down her fang. It was supposed to be menacing.
Grace squinted at her teeth. “Do you have a piece of steak stuck in your teeth? What’s with your tongue?”
Bishop coughed a laugh. The female’s eyes flared wide. She hissed at Grace, flung a final glare at Bishop, and stormed away.
“We were supposed to be discreet.” Humor crinkled the corner of Bishop’s eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m not a worldly vampire trained in the art of being a condescending bitch.” And the comment of bedding Rourke made her own fangs ache to bury themselves in Elvira’s throat.
“Well, I don’t think we’ll find out much here. Not after that reception.” Bishop urged her to leave, when a bark stalled them.
“Where is he?” Three males, all shorter than Bishop, but much, much taller than Grace flanked them.
The exit door at Grace’s back became extremely inviting.
“I know I’m dumber than I look, you’ll have to be more specific.” Bishop crowded her behind him, creating himself as a barrier between her and the wave of rage rolling off the males.
“The son of a bitch dusted Manka and left her scattered ashes for us to find.”
Manka. The female Rourke stunk like because he’d been trying to get answers. The female who’d stolen from him to set him up for a crime she participated in—killing the three people Grace loved.
Rourke (New Vampire Disorder Book 2) Page 8