Intervamption

by Kristin Miller

She bet he wouldn’t even have to touch her and she’d toss all restraint to the wanton wind.

  Mesmerized by the mountains of muscle on his back and the caramel glaze of his skin, Dylan moved closer, her legs brushing the side of the bed. She had to touch him. Just one time. Feel that smooth, tantalizing skin under her fingers. She reached out . . .

  He stirred, opened his eyes and stared straight through her.

  She froze, arm still extended. His irises were a burning fire, so hot they might’ve scorched the clothes right off her body. He didn’t budge either. Just stared, blinking at her as though he couldn’t really see her clearly.

  She didn’t belong here. Not now. Certainly not an inch from where this vampire lay, an inch away from making skin-on-skin contact. How would she explain herself to him? He’d report her to the Primus for sure. Fact was, she didn’t have an excuse for her behavior at all. She was simply pulled to this vampire like he had a magnet attached to her center.

  He blinked. Raised his head. Lifted his torso so she could glimpse his immaculately sculpted chest and washboard abs.

  Holy hell, this vampire was the hottest thing she’d laid eyes on in centuries. And she’d had a front row seat for Mount Vesuvius’s grand show. Her will power was doomed for failure.

  For the first time in her life, she really didn’t give a shit.

  Disorientation was an understatement. Total and absolute, cataclysmic mind and body fuck was more like it. Slade couldn’t see worth a damn. Everything was a haze. A murky blur of blacks and grays, shadows and random streams of light that spun around the room like gems in a kaleidoscope. Throbbing in his temples deafened him, echoed through his ears, making any sound besides his own breathing and heartbeat undistinguishable.

  Why did it suddenly smell cool and fresh, like someone pumped up the Glade in here? And where the hell was here anyway? He didn’t know. God, he didn’t know anything anymore.

  And he sure as hell couldn’t trust his body to tell him anything. Not with the way it was acting up by robbing him of his senses. When he’d first shifted, he felt fine as fire. His energy had returned quickly, he remembered, but now . . . he felt back at square one.

  He hoped this leech’s form would take on the first shift, otherwise he’d be one grouchy therian spending a whole lot of time on this scratchy-ass bed all by his lonesome, staring at the ceiling.

  What was he lying on anyway—a hay and needle mattress? He fisted the covers, only realizing they were silk when the soft fabric brushed the palm of his hand. The whole of his body felt drained and weak, rubbed raw down to bone. Man, he could still use that steak. And a rack or two of ribs.

  Blinking wildly, Slade sat upright. He had to get a grip on his new reality, on his body.

  Suddenly he got the feeling he wasn’t alone in the room.

  He waited a moment, blinking through the dark, trying to sense the presence of a vampire. That’s how it’d happen, right? His therian senses would remain intact, allowing him to sense danger when it was near? Oh, hell, what did he know about shifting into a leech’s body? It’s not like there was a How to Shift into a Vampire for Dummies series he could catch up on.

  A petite silhouette emerged through the haze like an angel through heavenly mist. Hourglass figure. Tiny waist with plump breasts. A figure meant to break a man . . .

  Good to know crucial parts of his anatomy still worked through his shifting meltdown. It seemed above the waist he was lame, but his lower half was ready to rock and roll.

  As the woman’s features came into view, he became enchanted by her beauty. Her hair fell over her shoulders like thick waves of chocolate with hints of cinnamon striking through it. Her skin was buttery smooth and—he chuckled to himself at his train of thought—he needed to get something to eat fast. All his thoughts swirled around food . . . and this angelic being standing before him.

  No sound infiltrated his ears. Tunnel vision focused on the wild S curves of her body and nothing else.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice gristly like an early morning wake-up call. “What do you want from me?”

  She opened her mouth to speak. Then closed it, looking like she was tossing over the appropriate answer to his question. He wished she’d say something, anything, so he could hear a sound other than the wind-tunneled silence spinning through his head. At least if this woman meant to harm him, he’d be able to hear it in her voice. Then at least he could defend himself . . . if he could defend himself in this state.

  “How’d you get in here?” he asked, his voice returning to its normal husk.

  She licked her lips, a quick swipe of pink along her supple mouth that left them glistening. And then she spoke.

  Slade couldn’t make out what she said. But he felt the warmth of her breath hit his body, sending tingling sensations across his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m havin’ trouble hearing you. Tell me that one more time.”

  He watched her lean over him, careful not to touch the bed, and mouth something deliberate and clear. Her lips moved in slow motion, parting and closing, pressing together and pulling apart.

  Her scent hit him like a sledgehammer. Fresh rain. Hints of jasmine. It cleared his head enough that he could see every detail of her face, even hear her breathing. He watched the heave of her chest rise and then lower, increasing from her nerves. The sight unleashed a fire in his loins, one he felt like he’d been holding back for ages.

  On impulse, Slade grabbed her by the arms and swung her on top of him, rolling her over until he’d pinned her beneath him. He went elbows-down on the mattress, leaving zero breathing room between her body and his.

  “What the hell are you doing? Let me go,” she said, squirming against the pressure of his body.

  Oh yeah, he heard that loud and clear. No hint of danger; no matter what words she spoke, she was putty in his arms.

  Suddenly every detail about her crystallized. The highlights in her hair. The softness behind her harsh words. Her desire that bloomed for him the second they made contact. It was undeniable.

  “I said, let me go.” She fought against him harder, twisting and turning, trying to find an inch of room. He gave her none. The more she struggled, the better he could feel the warmth of her, the strength of her body. He pressed against her harder, slowly grinding his hips into hers, more certain she wouldn’t be leaving his bed tonight.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” was all Slade could muster before his fangs elongated, tapping against his lower lip. It was a damn cool trick. “Stay with me.”

  Instead of continuing to fight, she stopped—and met his eyes. Those melting pools of blue stared at him. Through him. Right through the bullshit to his soul—although in his case, she must’ve been staring into an empty shell.

  For a split second he wondered if she saw through this form to him, to the therian beyond the fangs and glowing red eyes. No, that wasn’t possible, was it? Was it?

  “If you want me to stay, you’re going about it all the wrong way,” she said, her voice a creamy velvet lick of the air. “What happened to hello, how are you? Nice to meet you?”

  “Hello. How are you? Nice to meet you.”

  Her mouth turned up at the edges. “How about if you don’t let me go this instant, my knee is going to spasm and meet you between the legs?”

  Fair enough. He didn’t need the lower part of his body aching like his head. He rose up on his hands and took a sweeping look at her magnificent body.

  She lowered her eyes to his hips that were still pinning her in place. “I hardly call that compliance.”

  “Stay.” If he didn’t taste her, he’d burst. Slade leaned down to kiss the sweet pout of her lips, but she thrashed against the pillows. He shifted, his straining erection finding its way between her legs.

  Hesitation danced in her eyes, her body stilled. Her gaze swept the length of his face, down to his chest. “This is not what I expected to find when I came here tonight,” she said, her heart pulsing strong on her neck.

  “What
are you doing here?” He wondered how a mundane woman managed to blend in amongst vampires without being targeted. Tugging and pulling at the ridge of her pants and then the hem of her shirt, Slade realized she was overdressed—as he was very naked.

  Her chest was heaving fuller now; she was getting winded. Or seriously turned on. He hoped it was the latter. Her eyes drifted down his chest to his abs, then back up to his face. “I, I’m the one’s who’s supposed to prepare you . . . for us . . . for Court. I’m here to prepare you for Induction into the khiss,” she stuttered.

  “And I think you’re doing a mighty fine job.”

  She looked down at him, her eyes an amazing sunset blue. “There’s something different about you, isn’t there?”

  “Baby, I’m all the same in all the right places.” He counted the seconds until he could cup her breasts with his mouth; tease her nipples with quick strikes of his tongue.

  “What am I doing?” she asked herself.

  “Hopefully not thinking clearly.” Slade lowered his body on top of hers, feeling her lungs expand and retract, hearing her heartbeat pound through her chest. Then paused, a breath away. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

  She whispered, “Dylan.”

  “Dylan,” he purred and wrapped a soft curl around his finger.

  Her scent was an intoxicating rush that stunned him to the point of delirium. He wanted this woman six ways from Sunday—with whipped cream and a plump cherry on top. He needed her falling below him, falling over the top of him, falling all over herself in ecstasy. He needed her now.

  Nothing else mattered. Not the fact that he couldn’t see anything more than ten feet in front of his face, or hear anything but her voice. Nothing.

  If these were the uncontrollable impulses he’d heard vampires experienced, he was going to run wild with them. As if he had any choice. His body was a cannon, ready to fire, and there was no holding back.

  There was more than enough heat flowing off of this newborn to melt the iceberg that had taken up residence in her chest. Dylan had been so cold, so purpose-driven for so long, she thought it’d take a miracle to crack her core. Being wrong had never felt so good.

  Logical thoughts flew right out the window the second he pulled her against him. All Dylan could think about was the gentle rumbling coming from his chest, the way he was oddly warm against her body, and how rich and spicy his scent was.

  His mouth was so close to hers, she could taste him already. She wondered what he was waiting for, why he didn’t just kiss her and get it over with already. This hovering over his mouth was going to drive her batty. Then she realized he was waiting for permission. Aching for it.

  His crimson eyes traced over the curls floating at her temple, the curve of her brow, over her lips and along her jaw line. She didn’t know this man, had never seen him before in her hundred years, she was sure. Yet, she couldn’t help from twisting slowly in his grasp so that her body rubbed lightly against his, like he was familiar to her.

  He moaned in satisfaction and pressed harder against her. Oh, she could feel him between her legs. The long and hard of him poised at her center, begging entrance.

  She wanted his eyes on her, examining her, sizing her up. And she wanted his hands roaming all over her body, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. His touch had to be magic; for the first time in her life, she had total brain meltdown.

  “Kiss me,” she breathed. If he didn’t this instant she’d implode.

  Without a second delay, he crushed his mouth to hers.

  The kiss began hot and fiery, quickly melting into slow and thick drugging pulls of his mouth on hers. She whimpered as her fingers took on a mind of their own, grazing across his hair, grasping and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. She opened her mouth wide, granting him access to everything he desired.

  His tongue dove deep, then swirled around her mouth and teased her lips. The deep rumble that came from his chest erupted again, this time from deeper within. She drowned in the warmth of his mouth, the tantalizing whip of his tongue against hers and the ferociousness of his hands as they explored her body.

  He reared up with a wild desire in his eyes, a desire she’d never seen from another. As he did, his hands shot to her shirt. He ripped open the stream of buttons exposing her black lace bra.

  “God, you feel so good,” he said on groan, cupping her breasts and biting down on his lower lip, drawing blood.

  She had to taste him, lick the sweet nectar off his mouth. Guiding him by the neck, pulling him closer and closer down to her, Dylan watched his eyes devour her breasts, then creep up her neck. She let her fangs elongate, raising herself to nip at his lip and take him in.

  Shock flashed across his eyes. “What the hell?” He pushed her off him and scrambled to the opposite side of the bed. “You’re one of them? I mean, you’re not . . . Good Lord.”

  “What are you talking about? One of who?” Dylan pulled the edges of her shirt back into place, covering her exposed chest. “Who did you think I was?”

  A knock on the door startled them both.

  “Hey newbie, you’re on,” a deep voice called. “Get up and get moving. You’ve got five.”

  “This is so not happening to me today,” he grumbled, scrubbing his hands across his face.

  Reality crashed down around her. Despite the fact that he was glaring at her like he’d seen a ghost, she had a job to do, and she was clearly no longer wanted.

  “Damn this all to hell.” She slid off the bed, refastened her shirt—although she was missing a few buttons—and kept her eyes as far away from him as possible. The shock in his eyes had hurt her the most, even though she had no idea where it came from.

  Maybe he was expecting royalty to assist him in his transformation. Yeah, Dylan could imagine what kind of shock a newborn could experience in such a situation, especially since their impulses were buckled in for a wild roller coaster ride. When he realized she was less than he bargained for, there’d be no hiding the disgust in his eyes, would there?

  Wait a minute. Why was she rationalizing away her feelings simply because he was a newborn and completely unable to control his urges? Trying not to feel bad for his desire vanishing on the breeze?

  She must’ve had a major brain transplant the last ten minutes. What was she doing offering herself on a silver platter to a newborn five minutes before she was giving a speech in front of the entire khiss? “I’m sorry,” she said, checking her place. “This is wrong . . . all wrong.”

  “You can say that again.” He stood on shaky legs and stumbled to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

  Dylan smoothed her pants along with her frayed nerves. “What’s your name, newbie?”

  “My name’s . . .” He slowly rubbed his neck, circling his fingers down and around his clavicle, tracing over some sort of a pattern that wasn’t there. “. . . Slade.”

  “Why the hesitation? Don’t tell me you forgot your name . . .” Great. The first man she’d gotten this hot and heavy over was having second thoughts about revealing his true identity. She’d performed the trick many times when some pushy prick in a dance club wanted her number. She’d hand over some bogus 555 number. They’d leave, smiling like they scored an easy lay and she’d turn back to the dance floor relieved. Bullet successfully dodged.

  Being on the other end of that gun stung a little. “You know what?” she said, “Never mind. I don’t need to know your name. I came here to do a job. I don’t need anything from you at all.” Not at all. Nope.

  He met her eyes. Only then did she see the war raging in them. “My name is Slade. I didn’t lie to you. I only wish everyone else would’ve been as forthcoming before things got muddled.”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t lie to you, either. You know what? Let’s just forget this ever happened, all right? Can you deal with that?”

  He stormed to the armoire and pulled out a pair of slacks and a white shirt.
As he walked into the bathroom to dress, he said, “I can deal with that just fine. But you still haven’t told me what the hell you were doing in my bed.”

  Anger fired through her veins. “You pulled me into your bed, remember? Let’s not forget that. And I already told you: I’m the one who’s here to prep you for Court.”

  “Yeah, I remember you mentioning that,” he called. “Tell me, is lip service a part of your normal repertoire?”

  “No, I’m not a member of some kinky welcome committee, so get those thoughts right out of your head. And you didn’t seem to have a problem with my lips when you were sucking on them.”

  His hiss echoed through the bathroom.

  “You know, I was sent here to help you, so we better get on with it so I can get the hell outta here.” She walked to a large filing cabinet in the corner of the room, searched out a manila folder labeled “Induction,” and shuffled through its contents. She snatched a few papers and turned around, shocked to see him standing before her fully dressed. The designer duds fit his stature perfectly, falling from his broad shoulders like he was the model they were fitted for. “You need to read these before you head out there. They are instructions for how you should behave tonight, what you can expect from our khiss, and what we expect from you. You need to be ready to go at the snap of a finger. If you’re late, you’re out. Understand?”

  She put the papers in his hands without looking at them. It was safer that way . . . for her. If she didn’t look at the rough lines in his bronzed palm, she wouldn’t daydream about his fingers skimming over her body, his hands palming her—

  “All right, Slade, someone will arrange for feeding after Induction’s over. You’ll be assigned a studio apartment and be given a male mentor that suits you. After that you’re in like Flint.”

  “Sounds dandy. I just hope everyone’s as welcoming as you are.”

  That one stung a little more than she cared to admit. “You can kiss my ass, Slade.”

  A smile slashed across his face. “Maybe if you’re lucky.”