Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10)

by Colleen Gleason

  Macey’s fingers traced the silver crosses embedded in the sill as she chewed the crackers—which tasted as dry as sawdust and only went down when she forced them by drinking water. But her gnawing belly didn’t seem to mind.

  “Did you find what you needed?”

  Macey held on to her glass—just barely—and turned to Grady. “Yes. I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her heart was in her throat—forget swallowing any more crackers—and her insides were doing the Charleston.

  Bathed in a shaft of light from the street, he appeared rumpled from sleep. His dark hair was every which way, and a thick curl had tumbled over his forehead. His eyes were in shadow; his chin and jaw were dusted with stubble that glinted in the dusky light. He wore a flimsy undershirt that outlined the sleek muscles of his chest and broad shoulders, as well as the bulky bandages that telegraphed the locations of his worst injuries. His feet—long and elegant—were bare beneath loose sleep pants.

  “You didn’t wake me.”

  That was all he said, and Macey couldn’t help but try to meet his eyes in the dark, hoping for something…some sort of connection, recognition, something that told her…

  Well, what? That she hadn’t done a terrible thing to the man? That somehow Wayren’s golden disk hadn’t worked?

  That he still loved her?

  She swallowed hard and gestured with the package of crackers. “I hope you don’t mind. I was hungry.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, then…good night.” When he didn’t immediately shift for her to pass by, she swallowed hard and said, “Pardon me,” and went to move past him.

  “No,” he said, closing strong fingers around her wrist, halting her abruptly in the narrow space, right next to him. He was close…so close…so warm, and delicious smelling, and familiar. Her heart galloped like a runaway horse, her belly filled with fluttery wings.

  “I can’t do that, Macey,” he said in a low voice that had gone cold and hard. “I can’t pardon you. I can’t forgive you.”

  Macey jolted, her belly dropping to her knees, and looked up at him. Rage and accusation blazed in eyes illuminated by a slice of streetlight, and his expression was harsh and set.

  He knew her.

  He knew.

  Oh God… She felt light-headed and nauseated.

  Oh, Grady.

  Macey tried to swallow, tried to speak, but he released her roughly, turning away to present her with broad, rigid shoulders as he faced the window.

  Devastated, she stepped closer, reaching to touch him. Her hand settled lightly on the top of his shoulder. He stiffened sharply, and she sensed the faintest tremor beneath her fingers, felt the heat and firmness of his skin…and discovered that rage and pain could, in fact, vibrate from a person’s body.

  “I’m here—you’re here—because Max asked me,” he said, still in that cold, awful tone, his body rigid as steel. “That’s the only reason.”

  Macey recoiled, her hand falling away to land at her side. Her gut churned more violently.

  “Never fear—when he no longer has need of me,” Grady continued, “it’ll be just as you intended. As if you never knew me.”

  “Grady…” she whispered, holding on to the edge of the counter as her knees wavered.

  “Good night, Macey.”

  But she knew he really meant Goodbye.

  Throat burning, eyes stinging with hot, horrible tears, she spun and fairly ran back up the stairs.

  She’d made her bed, and now she must lie in it.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ~ Wherein the Expectations of Friendship are Enumerated ~

  Savina was in possession of a secret that she knew would cause no small upheaval to certain people. She didn’t know when it would be revealed, or how, or even if it would, and so she could do nothing but sit on it like a hen waiting for an egg to hatch.

  Which, in light of the fact that Rekk’s Pyramid was now in the hands of the undead, was a much more tenable eventuality to wait upon—rather than whatever terror and evil the vampires would visit upon Chicago.

  When Savina awoke, Macey was still sleeping soundly next to her. Sunlight streamed into the room and she checked the clock—nearly eleven. Late for Savina to rise as well, but that was good—the poor girl had gotten some much-needed rest. Along with her Venator genes and the treatments Max had given her, Macey would likely be nearly as good as new by tomorrow.

  Savina slid out of bed carefully so as not to wake her bedmate, and even remembered to drag on a robe over her flimsy nightgown before leaving the bedroom. When she came out into the hall, she nearly ran into Max—who was coming from the bathroom.

  Freshly showered, but unshaven.

  Wrapped only in a towel.

  She was still put out with him, still keeping her distance—besides all of the other issues between them, how could he even imagine for one minute that she and Grady had been…well, whatever he’d thought?

  But seeing him there in the short, narrow hallway, all clean and wet and muscular and smelling yummy and fresh…with that air of triumph and arrogance, and yet a charming undercurrent of diffidence…

  Even wrapped in a towel and with weariness in his eyes and dark circles under them, scars and bites scattered on his shoulders and arms, he looked ready to take on the world. One-handed.

  But hell—that was part of why she’d fallen in love with the idiot, wasn’t it? What he did, how he did it—and the fact that he was so blasted charming and good-looking while doing it.

  “Good morning,” he rumbled, his dark eyes sweeping over her with interest.

  All the feminine parts of her body sprang to attention, warm and quivering with delight. Drat it.

  “I trust you slept well,” he added…with a definite undercurrent of You’d have slept better with me.

  Damn right, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

  It was all she could do to keep from throwing herself at him right then and feasting on that warm, sleek, damp skin, and having his strong arms around her, and feel his lips everywhere…

  “Eventually, I did,” she replied with a warm smile, her voice still rough with slumber. “After your daughter and I had a thorough chat.”

  His arrogance slipped a little at that. “Ah.”

  But he recovered quickly and reached for her with a certain look in his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep last night myself,” he said, moving closer. “Spent a lot of time walking the streets. Didn’t get back till after dawn.”

  She inhaled a breath of Max mingled with the soap he’d just used, and her knees weakened as he reached for her. “Macey and I talked quite late,” she said, a little more breathlessly than she would have liked. “About all sorts of things.”

  But her taunt didn’t work this time, for he’d moved close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body, and now he was pulling her closer so that she bumped against his damp chest.

  “Max,” she said, evading him as he bent to cover her mouth with hers. “Your daughter is sleeping right there.”

  He eased back, glancing toward the bedroom door. “Did I tell you what I walked in on her doing?” he muttered, his fingers lingering on her shoulder, touching the ends of her hair. “With that devil Woodmore?”

  Savina pushed him back, her hands landing on that broad, warm, taut chest…and stayed there. Weak woman, she told herself, then made her palms drop away. “No, you didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I want her to see me in a—in a compromising position.”

  “But I want to see you in a compromising position,” he murmured, swooping down again.

  “Max,” she said, but it was more like a moan than a protest. He’d found that tender spot on the side of her neck, just above her shoulder…and when he kissed her there, with his soft, hot mouth, all sorts of hot sensations trammeled through her body. Her knees were threatening to give out. “Not here,” she managed to say.

  “No problem,” he said, and the next thing Savina knew, they were in Grady’s tiny, steamy bath
room and the tile wall was against her spine. Condensation seeped through the back of her robe as Max kissed the hell out of her—and she kissed him back, sliding her hands down over the solid muscles of his shoulders and chest.

  He’d released his grip on the towel at some point, and now she could feel every bit of him pressed up against her: hard, sleek, and damp.

  He muttered something low and intense, and yanked the robe from her shoulders, slid the straps of her nightgown down, and uncovered her breasts. Savina had one foot propped up against the side of the bathtub to keep her from sliding down the damp wall as he bent to kiss one of her nipples.

  His mouth felt so good…sensual and warm, his tongue delicate as he slid it around, tasting her sleepy skin, his lips tight and strong as he sucked and licked while she tunneled her fingers into his damp hair, holding on for dear life.

  “Savina,” he whispered, lifting away then burying his face in her neck as he backed her fully against the wall, pushing his hips up against hers, “I’m going to tear this if you don’t get rid of it.”

  She gave a short laugh, and pushed his hands away from the delicate lace of her shift. “Better not,” she said. “It’s the only one I have with me.”

  “You can sleep without it,” he said, his hands sliding up her torso then cupping her breasts as she shimmied out of the nightgown. It had barely joined her robe on the floor, tangling around their feet in a pool, when Max lifted her up.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist as he found her with his fingers, all wet and swollen and hot. Oh, yes, she thought as her head tipped back against the wall as he gave a soft sigh of his own. Yes.

  Then he shifted, and her eyes flew open as he drove up inside her. They both groaned with pleasure—it had been too long—and Savina tightened her legs around his waist, burying her face in his hair, gripping his shoulders as he moved with powerful strokes.

  As she came, Savina bit her lip, smothering a cry that would surely alert the household otherwise. She arched against him, eagerly taking the full force of his last thrust as he groaned his release.

  She rested there, head back against the wall, panting and damp, smiling and sated. He still held her up against the slippery tile with an arm around her waist. Max was breathing heavily too, and he helped ease her legs from around his waist, settling her back onto the floor.

  “Well, then,” she breathed, suddenly feeling really good. Her hand slipped down the front of him, traveling over solid pecs and a ridged belly, then slipped around to pat his arse. “I’m definitely awake now.”

  He grinned down at her, terribly pleased with himself, and brushed the hair from her eyes. “And I find I’m not as weary as I thought I was.”

  Then he stepped back, his expression changing from hubristic to something closed and wary. “You and Macey talked last night.”

  Savina picked up her nightgown and slithered back into it. “We did.”

  “Did she…did she say anything about me?”

  Her heart gave a pang at the mix of emotion in his face. “Not very much, to be honest.”

  “She hates me, doesn’t she? I’m gone for thirteen years, then the minute I show up, I stake her.” He looked miserable. No wonder he hadn’t been able to sleep last night.

  But Savina resisted the urge to smooth away all of his pain and uncertainty. Only Max could do that, with the help of Macey—and surely that would happen in its own time.

  After all, Savina herself had mixed emotions about her relationship with him. She was besotted with the man, and he loved and respected her…even if he was an idiot sometimes. He was simply afraid.

  The big, bad, fierce Summas Gardella was afraid of feeling too much…for he knew how easily it could be taken away. He knew how it could be used against him as well—and that, Savina had to admit, was a compelling reason for his reluctance to become attached or committed to anyone.

  His decision to see Macey—though it had actually been forced upon him when he realized Nicholas Iscariot had Rasputin’s amulet—was a step in the right direction.

  “You have to give Macey time,” Savina replied, touching his face. “After all, she thought you were dead for thirteen years. What do you expect—for her to run up to you and call you Daddy while she hugs you and cries with joy?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. But…she won’t even— She calls me Max. And she won’t even talk to me. All she does is give me angry looks.”

  “Give her time. I did warn you, didn’t I, that you needed to take things slow and expect some anger and coldness? What happened the first time you saw her?”

  He looked away. Pursed his lips. Sighed. “I…uh…walked in on her with—kissing Woodmore.”

  Savina couldn’t control a burst of laughter. “And you’re surprised she wasn’t happy to see you? Max…” She shook her head. “And I’m sure you took it well, didn’t you—walking in on them. I’m sure you were polite and warm and expressed your delight at seeing your daughter for the first time since she was eight.”

  “Well, Christ, Woodmore looked like he was… Well, hell. She’s my daughter.” Max ground his teeth. “Right. Give it time. I just hope we both live through these next few days.”

  The warrior was back, the lover had gone…but Savina was used to that, and she didn’t mind. He wouldn’t be who he was if he didn’t have that dedication to his life’s work.

  She stood on tiptoes and gave him a kiss. “How about I get a shower now.”

  He kissed her back, but didn’t move. His expression had changed again. He seemed ready to speak, but wasn’t able to.

  “Max?”

  All at once, his face seemed to crumble. He snatched her up, gathering her into a suffocating embrace. “Oh God, Savina,” he whispered against her hair. “Don’t…ever…leave me.”

  Her eyes flew open wide with utter shock, her lashes brushing against his neck. Had she heard him correctly? She tried to pull away, but he was holding her too tightly. And he was trembling a little.

  “Max,” she said, realizing that he’d realized he needed something from her…something he was articulating for the first time. Something that terrified him. Something that turned her insides upside down with tentative joy and happiness.

  “I’ve never done the leaving,” she said. It’s been you who couldn’t stay.

  But she didn’t need to speak that part.

  She eased back enough to look up at him, taking his beloved face in her hands. “I would never leave you, Max Denton. You know that. You’d be a mess without me.”

  He nodded, a flicker of humor gracing his face. Then his eyes turned sober and wary, and as he looked down at her, they softened. “Marry me, Savina.”

  She stilled, tamped down the rush of surprise and delight and became realistic. “I—I don’t know, Max…look at where we are—”

  “Yes, we’re in a bathroom—not exactly the best place for a proposal, I know, but—”

  “No, I mean…where we are. You’re feeling vulnerable because of Macey, and—”

  “And because of the way you were looking at Woodmore,” he said in a steely voice.

  “Woodmore?” she scoffed. “Don’t be silly. He’s as beautiful as a dark angel, but he’s not for me. Though I would like to photograph him—anyway, besides, that is not a good reason to get married. Because you think I was looking at Woodmore. Hell, Max, I look at other men all the time, but it doesn’t mean—”

  “Christ. You do?” He looked utterly flummoxed. “When?”

  Savina laughed. What a lunatic. The man had such an ego he thought he was the only creature she noticed. So she wasn’t about to tell him he was the only man she’d ever looked at twice.

  “Max, we can talk about this later. We’re in a bathroom. I have an appointment at two. And you’ve got to go off and save the world.” Her smile faltered a little. Yes, it would always be that way—him going off to save the world, nearly dying at least once a week.

  “Right. All right. But…this isn’t an impetuous
thing, Savina. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And last night…well, I had a lot to mull over. And I realized I’m a terrible father, and a cowardly lover, and…” He shrugged. “Aren’t you going to argue with me?” he asked hopefully.

  “Max.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “You’ve been a terrible father—I’ve told you that before. But you’re trying to fix that. And as far as a lover…well, I’m smiling, aren’t I?” She pecked him on the cheek, shoved his towel back at him, and said, “I love you, Max,” then flung open the bathroom door and shoved him out—right into the path of Macey.

  Oh dear. That was awkward.

  Savina grinned and closed the bathroom door before he could bolt back inside.

  Let him handle it. That would be a nice father-daughter interlude.

  She chuckled and turned on the shower.

  + + +

  Max felt his face go hot as his daughter’s eyes flashed from the closed bathroom door to him, then skittered away from his unclothed torso.

  Thanks a lot, Savina.

  “Good morning,” he said, managing somehow to recover from the fact that he’d just: one, had his marriage proposal shot down; two, exited from a lavatory where it was obvious he’d just been in there, naked, with a woman; three, was clutching a towel to the front of him.

  In front of his daughter.

  Thanks again, Savina.

  Macey just looked at him. Then, her face blossoming red, she spun and marched back to the bedroom she was sharing with Savina—which was the same room he’d been sharing with Savina.

  Usurped by his own daughter. Bloody hell.

  More than an hour later, however, Max had forgotten—or at least was pretending to have forgotten—that awkward moment as he and the others, including Woodmore, were gathered around Grady’s kitchen table.

  “I have to go into the Trib’s office this morning,” Grady said. He didn’t look all that hale and hearty and he had circles under his eyes, but he wasn’t moving nearly as slowly as he had been yesterday. He glanced at the clock and frowned. “Well, hell. It’s well past morning, so I have to get there as soon as possible. I have an exclusive to write, after all.” He smiled broadly.