Conception

by Sarah McCarty

  She picked up her knife and fork again. “I’ve managed to survive this long without it. I imagine I’ll make another fifty years or so.”

  Again, that shake of the head. He motioned to her plate. “Eat.”

  Her knee-jerk reaction was to say she was done. She resisted because that would have been counterproductive. She stabbed her fork into the salad instead. The fork hit the bottom of the bowl with a clank.

  Deuce sighed. “You are angry again.”

  “I don’t take well to being ordered around.”

  He nodded. “So you have said. Eat please.”

  She would have told him that tacking a please onto the end of an order didn’t really change it from an order, but she was too hungry and there wasn’t any point in arguing with him.

  About one-fifth of the way through the meal she was full. A truly depressing state as her taste buds weren’t nearly done with their orgy. She put her knife and fork down and wiped her mouth with her napkin.

  Deuce frowned at her. “That is all you want?”

  “No, but it’s all that will fit right now.”

  There was a pause and then he nodded. The tray was removed and set on the floor. Deuce held his hand out for the napkin. She very deliberately held it high before dropping it into his palm.

  “You are still angry.”

  “I don’t like being treated like a child.”

  “I was not aware I was doing that.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He stood there beside the bed, so big and disgustingly strong that he made her aware of every weakness, every pain. Every way she wasn’t what she needed to be.

  “Don’t you have friends to visit, feeding to do?”

  “My first priority is to see to my mate.”

  “Consider me seen to.”

  Between the food and the fluids he had given her last night, she felt revitalized. Not her old self, but stronger than she could remember. Strong enough to do what needed to be done.

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I do not understand your mood.”

  The muscles in his arms bulged enticingly. She licked her lips and dropped her gaze, only to be seduced by his washboard abs. She knew exactly how he’d taste if she ran her tongue over those hills and valleys, explored the depression of his navel, followed that trail of hair as it disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. “It’s not necessary that you understand.” She dragged her gaze to the safety of his. “It’s only necessary that you respect it.”

  “I cannot respect what I do not understand.”

  “Sure you can.”

  She could tell his patience was wearing thin by the furrow growing between his brows. “No. I cannot.”

  Apparently Chosen men were no better than human men when it came to catching a clue. “I want to be alone, Dusan. I just want five minutes of blessed privacy.”

  “You want me to leave?”

  “Yes!”

  It might not have been the most polite of answers, but she needed the man— vampire—and his smothering ways gone.

  “And if I grant you this privacy, you will be happy?”

  “At the least, happier.”

  “Then five minutes you shall have.”

  “Five minutes was a figurative term.”

  His brow arched in that way that suggested she was trying his patience. “You want more?”

  “A half hour at least.”

  “Why?”

  She had to think fast. “I want to use the facilities and bathe.”

  His expression didn’t relax but there was a lightening of the energy around him. “That sounds reasonable.”

  And if he didn’t find it reasonable, did that mean he wouldn’t allow it?

  He flicked the throw back and slid his big arms under her thighs and back. His scent surrounded her as he lifted her up. She refused to throw her arms around his neck and further his belief that she was helpless. Instead, she wedged her elbow into his gut and folded her hands across her chest. “What are you doing?”

  The smile that twitched the corner of his mouth was about as irritating as the arrogance he wore as easily as others wore clothes. “Carrying you to the facilities.”

  “I could walk.”

  “Yes.”

  “But?” There was always a but with him.

  “I would not have the pleasure of you in my arms or,” his gaze dropped to her bunched arms, “the delightful view of your breasts.”

  She looked down. Her breasts were all but pushed out of the loose neck of the shirt. She yanked the material, swearing when it wouldn’t budge, ending by relying on the stretch of the soft material to keep covered. “Pervert.”

  He laughed, a soft chuckle that bounced her lightly. “No male, human or Chosen, would look away from such beauty.”

  Her body, always on high alert with him, pulsed an invitation. His eyes seemed to see right through the shirt to the flesh beneath, and he licked his lips. Her nipples peaked and ached. Her breath came up short. She closed her eyes and thought of all the women that tongue had touched. As a cooling agent, it was only mildly effective. This close to him, her body only cared about one thing. “Oh for heaven’s sake!”

  She didn’t know if she said that aloud or was projecting, but the smile he’d been teasing her with burst to full bloom, drenching his handsome face in a sexual flood of promise as he let her slide down the length of his body.

  She could only stare as her feet hit the floor. It simply wasn’t fair that any man should look like that. With his finger, he tipped her mouth closed, male satisfaction tingeing the humor in his grin. He put his big hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the bathroom. “I will be outside if you need me.”

  Her brain finally clicked back into gear. Outside? That was never going to work. She ducked from under his hands and turned around, one hand on the door to steady herself.

  “Do you have hearing that matches your sense of smell?”

  He reached forward, brushing a long spiral curl from her cheek. “Yes.”

  “Then no way in hell does standing outside the door constitute privacy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because all I’ll be thinking about is what you’re imagining as you listen.”

  His finger traced down the line of her jaw, over her collarbone, between the swell of her breasts to the bottom of her breastbone before pausing. He held her gaze with his as the pressure increased. His fingers folded, turned and then opened under her breast, lifting it up and out. “You could imagine instead that it was my hands on you instead of yours.” He squeezed her breast, letting it glide back until he caught the tip between his fingers. “I would like to bathe you.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, her knees went weak, and that fast, she was wet and ready for him. He did nothing more than hold her breast suspended by the nipple, letting the weight and her movement determine the stimulation. She leaned back, her breath catching at the stab of pleasure that shot straight to her groin. His smile faded. Lust filled his expression and the air around them. His and hers. His grip tightened. Fire chased the pleasure as she gasped, “I don’t think I’d get much bathing done.”

  “But your pleasure would be great.”

  It already was. She bit her lip and closed her eyes against the potency of his allure. “I really want a bath.”

  He released her breast but not her gaze. “You are strong enough for this?”

  She glanced into the bathroom at the decadent shower stall, and lastly the window between the toilet and the stall. “Absolutely.”

  “And you will not be able to relax if I stand outside?”

  She shook her head no.

  He hesitated, brushed his hair back off his shoulder with a sharp movement and then nodded. “Then I grant you your privacy.”

  Relief washed through her in a wave she had to struggle to contain. “Thank you.”

  “But—” He frowned at her, clearly not comfortable with leaving her alone.

  “What?�
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  “You will promise to call if you have need.”

  “You just tell me what button to hit on the intercom and you’ve got a deal.”

  His eyes lit with humor and the stern lines of his face softened. He was laughing at her. She just knew it. She was absolutely certain when he tilted her head up and brought his down. His breath hit her cheek, then her lips, before his mouth settled over hers. Hunger rose between them, fast and furious. His mouth mated with hers, his soul reached for hers. He pulled her hard against his groin, the thick edge of his cock digging into her hip. His mouth separated a hair from hers, leaving her drowning in a wave of longing that threatened to pull her under.

  “You have only to think of me, and I will come.”

  Chapter Eleven

  You have only to think of me, and I will come.

  The promise lingered long after Deuce left the room, hanging on the moist air like a threat. Eden put all the energy she could into blocking her thoughts as she turned on the shower jets. The last thing she needed was for him to come in here any sooner than they’d agreed. She could only hope the baby didn’t wake, and that Deuce took her mental block as a sign she didn’t want him doing a peeping Tom routine during her shower.

  Steam fogged the room. She threw the switch for the fans. They came on with a satisfying rumble. She needed as much noise as possible to cover her escape. She glanced up at the small window. Assuming she could get it open. The basement windows at her grandfather’s house looked similar and those could be popped out. If luck was with her, so could these. She just needed enough height to get leverage. She tossed a towel on the toilet seat and grabbed the stainless steel trash can. The only thing in it was a couple of tissues she’d used the day before. She dumped them on the floor and flipped the can upside down on the toilet seat. She almost knocked it off twice before she found her balance, but once high enough, she checked for wires around the outside of the window. As absurd as it sounded for something as all-powerful as a vampire to have a security system, she could see Deuce investing in one. He had that intensity that suggested he’d be a stickler for all the little details.

  To her surprise, there weren’t any wires that she could see. She held her breath as she turned the locks on the window, wincing as they clicked. No alarm went off. No warning cry rang out. So far so good. She eased the window open. A cold shot of air blew into the bath, sending the whorls of steam retreating for cover. She unhooked the restraining chain and popped the window free. A stronger gust of winter air followed the first, sprinkling her face and arms with a dusting of snow as she pulled the window out of the frame. Holding onto the casement with her left hand, she braced herself as she lowered the window to the floor. The garbage can teetered on the toilet. She froze, letting her arm take most of her weight for a moment while she adjusted her stance. Nervous sweat dampened her underarms and face, spreading to her hands. She tightened her grip, not needing a slip at this moment. Her heart pounded and her breath fought to clear the clench of her throat. She had to do this. She had to escape. Jalina’s life depended on it.

  Slowly, she straightened. Adrenaline was rushing through her system so fast she couldn’t catch her breath. Every nerve ending stretched taut, waiting for the slightest clue that she was about to be discovered. Indecision took advantage of the hesitation, wiggling between conviction and possibility. Maybe there was another way. She shoved it aside on the next gust of winter cold.

  This was the only way. Deuce would never let her leave. He’d fight to the death to keep her safe, but he didn’t know what he was up against. Didn’t know her grandfather or just how sick he was. Clay Lavery would do everything in his considerable power, use every one of his high-placed Coalition connections to get her back, because he thought she held the secret to his immortality. She could work with that. As long as she could keep his focus on her, convince him that Jalina had died due to an inability to feed, she could adopt the role of discouraged prisoner, convince him that she’d exhausted her last hope before recapture. And in time, get far enough below his radar so that she could kill the son of a bitch.

  She shifted her weight cautiously. Standing on tiptoe, she dug the snowdrift away from the opening. The fluffy white flakes melted on her hands. She didn’t fool herself that killing her grandfather would stop the Coalition, but it would end the Coalition’s path to her daughter. Lavery was a suspicious, cautious man. He hadn’t let anyone know she was pregnant. She didn’t know if that meant he’d been planning on double crossing his cohorts or if he was holding out for a grandstand moment, but she was willing to bet that, after her escape, those who’d cared for her during her pregnancy were now dead. Clay Lavery did not tolerate humiliation or failure.

  The cold air on her wet flesh bit deeply. She ignored the pain as long as she could, but eventually she was forced to tuck her fingers under her arms to bring back the circulation. Precious seconds ticked by as she warmed them, seconds she couldn’t spare but had to, or risk triggering Deuce’s ability to feel her distress. She did not need him swooping in to cure what he’d regard as a “need” in his mate. Not now.

  As soon as the pain left her fingers, Eden hooked her arms over the edge of the sill and pulled herself up, ignoring the flash of guilt at deceiving him that stabbed her conscience. Deuce’s ability to ignore the truth was only exceeded by his determination to cure her. But the reality was, she was dying, and no amount of hope or determination was going to undo what had been done. Her body was about finished. But no matter what, she wasn’t going to die with her daughter at risk. Which meant she had to leave now. Before Deuce shared “fluids” with her again. Before she weakened further. Not only in body but in determination. The man was a master at illusion. His biggest illusion being that they had a future.

  Now. The soft feminine whisper broke into her mind out of nowhere, sliding under her defenses like an old friend, reaffirming her belief in what she was doing.

  Eden pulled herself up to the sill, gasping with the effort, hooking her elbows on the outside. She forced more of her body through the narrow opening, for once grateful she’d lost so much weight this year. It was going to be a tight fit. She almost didn’t make it. Her hips hung up at their widest point. The cold stung her cheeks and numbed her hands. She pulled harder. The thin jersey of the shirt and shorts were no match for the cold metal. Pain sliced up her side as she pushed herself forward. More than she thought she’d be able to mask, but as her groan welled, a cloud appeared before her, still containing that feminine touch.

  She slipped into it, grateful for the protection. One more heave, and then she was free. She landed facefirst in a drift. She lay in the snow, enjoying the blessed peace that came between leaving the heat, and her body recognizing the cold of the outside. It was going to be a hell of a walk down the mountain, but she wouldn’t die. She knew that. Not of cold or exposure, at least. If the cloud stayed, it would be a cakewalk. If it didn’t, well, all she had to do was survive the pain until she got close enough to her goal to end the game. If she was lucky, her grandfather’s men were as close as Deuce feared.

  She crawled to the hedge and crouched behind it to get her bearings, standing on the hem of the shirt to protect her feet.

  The night was cold, colder than it had felt when she’d left the bathroom. Cold enough to have trees creaking as they swayed in the slight breeze. The moon was nearly full, casting a clear, pale light over everything. As far as she could see there was nothing but black sky carpeted with a sprinkling of stars. It was a beautiful night, damn it all to hell. She really needed to work on timing these escapes better. Either that or make sure she had access to a weather channel. With such clear weather, and a moon hanging so brightly in the sky, it was going to be a bitch and a half getting across the yard without being seen.

  A bitter wind blew. She shivered, but otherwise held herself perfectly still. This wasn’t going to be as easy as getting out of her grandfather’s compound. She’d known every aspect of that security system, known wha
t to watch out for. Her primary role as his hostess for his influential friends, before everything changed, had demanded it. But here, everything was an unknown and all it would take was one wrong move and her plan would be over. She couldn’t let that happen. Jalina had to be protected at all costs.

  Eden worked her way down the hedge line until she reached the corner of the house, just behind the porch railing. She risked a quick peek at the porch itself. Empty. Thank goodness. She’d definitely take that as a positive sign. Dropping to her hands and knees, keeping her shoulder as close as she could to the latticework bottom, she crept along the edge of the porch until she reached the end. Tucking herself as small as possible under a cedar hedge, she parted the branches and looked out. And promptly swore.

  An entire compound fanned out in front of her, straddling a main road which branched off into many smaller ones. Small wooden buildings dotted the snowbanked roads at regular intervals, spilling warm pools of welcoming light into the cold night from some of the windows. It was like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting. If she discounted the fact that the occupants of those houses were more associated with horror than with cozy. In front of many of the houses were powerful-looking SUVs. She was going to need one of those.

  The house to the far right of the first side road had a nice SUV in front of it. There was no light streaming from the windows and the house on the left only had a light on in the back left corner, which hopefully meant no one was home. It was her best shot.

  The only question was, how was she going to get to it? There was no cover between here and there. Just snowdrifts bathed in moonlight. She could cut back behind the house and try to follow the tree line down, but that would take time she didn’t have. She’d already used up ten of her thirty minutes. No. She was going to have to follow the road and try to use the high snowbanks as cover. She untucked her feet and scouted her course.

  “You’re not going to make it.”

  The comment came from above her. It was made in the calmest, most conversational tone she’d ever heard and when she looked up, she knew why. Dak stood on the porch leaning against the railing as if he didn’t have a care in the world, his gun over his shoulder. The only hint that this was more than a casual conversation to him was the intensity with which he watched her.