Before Dawn

by Ann Bruce

  “For what?”

  She hesitated, then waved a hand at the bed. “I’m sorry for…putting you in that position.”

  He stiffened. “Really?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft. “Or are you just sorry you fucked me?”

  She flinched, but Ryan didn’t care. He could see the retreat in her eyes and was across the room in two strides. He snagged her wrist and yanked her inside the room. She gasped. Her back flattened against the wall, and she stared at him, eyes wide. He loomed over her, well inside her personal space, and slapped his free hand on the wall beside her head, effectively caging her in.

  “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy.”

  “I—”

  “But I’m no fucking hero either. I could’ve stopped you, but I didn’t want to. I wanted you.” His voice lowered, turned husky, as he closed the gap between their bodies. Her teeth sank into a corner of her bottom lip, but she was unable to bite back the soft moan. “I still want you.”

  Her lashes lowered, veiling her gleaming eyes, and the fingers of her captured hand curled into a fist.

  “I saw you with the Suit,” he said between gritted teeth. Even now the memory made him want to take something—someone—apart.

  “Suit?” she echoed wonderingly.

  “Roberts.”

  “Oh.”

  “Every time you brought him home, I wanted to kill him.”

  She blinked, coming out of her daze. “He was a mistake from the beginning.”

  Ryan bent down until his mouth brushed her temple. “Am I?” he asked roughly, forcing the words through constricted vocal cords.

  She went still, not even daring to breathe.

  “Mercy?”

  Her chest moved. “I-I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I don’t know you.”

  His lips touched the delicate rim of her ear, the merest brush of skin on skin, yet she inhaled sharply. “You know enough,” he said, and rocked his hips forward.

  Her eyes went to half-mast. “Lust,” she breathed, turning her head, her parted lips seeking his.

  “I can work with that,” murmured Ryan, and licked her plump bottom lip.

  Ryan McGinnis drew back, and without thought, Mercy followed the movement. He made a rough sound laced with amusement. Beyond caring about anything other than the sudden emptiness throbbing between her legs, she widened her stance and pushed up onto her tiptoes, rubbing the front of her body against the front of his. It was a little movement, but the reaction it garnered was tenfold. The fingers around her wrist tightened, his body crushed hers as if he wanted to meld their two bodies into one, and his hard mouth clamped over hers.

  His kiss was a brazen assault that would’ve driven her head back had the wall not been behind it. His tongue claimed her mouth, venturing deep, exploring all the different textures. Her free arm lashed around his neck as she returned the kiss, dueled with his tongue, sucked it deeper into her mouth.

  With the heat of need coiling inside her, her pinioned wrist struggled for release, and he complied. He broke off the kiss, leaving her panting breathlessly. He fell to his knees, and the sound of protest died on her lips as her hands found his hair. With a single yank, he unbuttoned her fly. He curled his fingers around the waistband of her jeans and pulled them down, taking her panties with them, tearing them in his haste. He tore her shoes off before freeing her ankles from her jeans and panties.

  He cupped her hips, and his voracious mouth covered her sex. Mercy moaned, her fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair. He wedged a shoulder underneath her thigh, opening her even more as he kissed and licked her labia. Mercy sank her teeth into her bottom lip but small mewling sounds still escaped as her body twisted this way and that, needing to get closer because it wasn’t enough, needing to get away because it was too much.

  His hands slid around to cradle her buttocks, to arch her pelvis. He held that part of her still and darted his tongue inside her. She cried out with pleasure.

  “Oh, God…please.”

  She begged some more, the sounds almost sobs, and tried to writhe and thrust her hips forward to impale herself on his tongue. He obliged, and she cried out again. Then he shifted, took her heavy and throbbing clit between his lips and sucked. She came, her mind immersed in pleasure and her body lost to convulsions.

  Before the last shudder racked her body, he shot to his feet and plunged inside her, his mouth smothering her startled gasp, sharing with her the taste of her own secretions. He held himself still within her, and she savored the sensation of being filled so fully her entire head swam with bliss.

  When it was no longer enough, when an aching emptiness throbbed within her, she broke away from his mouth and panted his name. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, wanting to tear through his clothes to get to his bare skin, and her legs wrapped around his hips like a vise.

  With a harsh, wordless sound, he withdrew, then began to thrust. She buried her face in his neck and whispered his name over and over again. His skin was hot and damp against her lips, and she couldn’t resist tasting him, loving the salty flavor on her tongue. He thrust harder, faster, pounding her into the wall. The tension within her began to build, becoming unbearable, and she told him so.

  When her head swam again, her pleasure-fuddled brain took a moment to realize he was moving. Then her world tilted, her hands fell from his shoulders, and the softness of the bed was underneath her back, the hardness of his body between her legs. He was hunched over her, driving in and out. His hands were planted on either side of her head, his eyes shut tight, his face a mask of agony and rapture.

  “More…take more…”

  His words were guttural, just barely discernible. But she heard and understood and didn’t know how she could take any more of him. Then he moved, shifted, rolled, and took her with him, and she found herself looking down at him, straddling his hips with his cock high up inside her, deeper than before.

  “Yes,” he hissed, and hands clamped on her hips, bucked upward again and again. She braced her hands on his ridged abdomen and let her head fall forward, her hair curtaining her face. She tried to move, tried to help, but he wouldn’t let her. She sobbed. Another change in position, and she became frantic as the need inside her became a wild, feverish thing.

  He was above her again, a broad hand splayed across the bare skin of her middle as if to hold her down. His heat seared her, within and without. Her nails dug into his forearms as he quickened the pace.

  “Close,” he rasped, his teeth clenched. “Almost…”

  His movements became frenzied as control deserted him. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was too much, too intense. She couldn’t—

  It shattered brilliantly. As if from a distance, she heard herself cry out in climax.

  A low groan reached her ears, then the body above her shuddered.

  Chapter Four

  He was gone when she woke, sticky and sore and knowing further sleep would elude her. Mercy rolled to the edge of the bed, got to her feet, and headed for the bathroom. Five minutes under a punishing spray of water and she emerged, flushed pink with heat on the outside and cold as ice on the inside. Despite Ryan’s assurances, how could she do anything but worry until he returned? No matter how strong, how fast he was, he was still only human. And Edmond…Edmond was not.

  Wrapped in a towel, Mercy searched through the drawers of the dresser in the room next to hers until she found a T-shirt that obviously belonged to Ryan. She slipped into the garment, which hung down to her thighs, and forgoing panties, pulled on the jeans Ryan had stripped off her earlier. She found the sneakers, one in a corner and another under the bed, forced her feet into them, and went downstairs.

  Savage was still in the kitchen, pouring steaming hot water from a kettle into a thick mug.

  “Ryan’ll be okay,” he said without looking up. After returning the kettle to the stovetop, he stirred the contents of the mug with a spoon, the clinking of metal hitting earthenware almost musical. “He’s been doing this f
or a while.”

  Feeling oddly anxious, Mercy moved deeper into the room to lean a little against the island counter, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “That’s what he said to me.”

  The stirring stopped. Savage looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “You two exchanged actual words?”

  She could feel the blush crawl up her face as her glance skittered away. It fell to the green, barrel-shaped mug and its contents. She stared as the curls of steam rose and evaporated. Savage pushed the mug toward her.

  “Lemon, honey, and a little something to make you feel better.”

  She automatically wrapped her hands around the cup, not realizing just how chilled she was until the heat seeped into the flesh of her palms. She dragged it closer and lifted it. After blowing lightly across the surface, she took a tentative sip. It was too hot, but she drank it anyway. There was a hint of saltiness, and she wondered what Savage had added in addition to the lemon and honey. Then the liquid warmth slid down her esophagus and pooled in her stomach, a comforting thing, and she could feel muscles she hadn’t known were tense loosen.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. After another careful swallow, she set the mug back down. Quietly, she asked, “Why do you do it?”

  “Why do I or why does Ryan?”

  Her gaze flickered up, and she replied truthfully, “Both.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, rested a hip against the counter, and crossed his ankles, like he was settling in for a long talk. “For me, it’s almost a family business. I’m the fourth generation. My daddy, my granddaddy, my great-granddaddy. They all did it before me.” His eyes became distant. “My mother didn’t want this life for me, so my father agreed to never try to bring me into it. But when I turned eighteen, a delegate from the Council approached me and gave me the spiel.” He shrugged. “And I said yes.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  Another shrug, then his lips twisted humorlessly. “I’m saving mankind, aren’t I? No greater reward and all that.”

  Mercy took a moment to absorb that then probed, “And Ryan?”

  Dark eyes met hers, steady, weighing. “Ryan and his family—mother, father, younger sister—were attacked by a vampire one night. It broke in while they were sleeping. Killed his father before one of us showed up. The cavalry arrived, but it was Ryan who ended up staking it. He improvised with the broken end of a hockey stick.”

  Her stomach churned uneasily. She lifted the mug again and took another swallow. “How old was he?”

  “Thirteen.”

  Oh, Jesus, she thought, digging a fist into her stomach as if she could massage away the sick feeling congealing in the pit of it. She let the counter take more of her weight to still the trembling that threatened to make her knees buckle. She was thirty-two and Edmond terrified her. How had a thirteen-year-old boy coped?

  By growing up and killing as many of them as he could.

  Absurdly, tears prickled the backs of her eyes, and she had to look away.

  Savage straightened. “Finish that,” he ordered, tapping the lip of the mug with a thick forefinger. “You look like you need it.”

  She clutched the mug with both hands and brought it up to her mouth. The liquid, still hot but more drinkable, splashed a little against her lips, hit her tongue, and she swallowed. The yawn caught her by surprise, as did the invisible weights that attached themselves to her eyelids. She yawned again and set the mug on the counter.

  “Mercy?”

  Savage’s voice sounded far away. She could barely focus on it. She wanted to lie down and close her eyes. She wanted to—

  Her palms slapped the counter, fingers spread wide. It was a repeat of the episode in her office but not as strong. Because the drug wasn’t aided by alcohol this time.

  Her eyes found Savage and narrowed, but it was so difficult to concentrate on all three of him with her head swimming, making the sleep that beckoned very tempting. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, then opened them wide. The drowsiness didn’t abate.

  Still on the counter, her hands fisted. Focus, Mercy, focus.

  She felt a hand touch the slightly numb flesh of her upper arm, and she drew away, a little clumsy, a little graceless, as if her limbs were not entirely under her control. All three Savages were suddenly beside her, looming menacingly over her, and she stumbled away from them, turning as she retreated. The back of her hand smacked the mug, and it skidded a little ways across the smooth counter. Her fingers snagged the handle, and drawing on the pitiful dregs of her remaining strength, she hurled the cup at the middle Savage. The hot liquid, followed by the mug, hit the arm he’d raised at the last instant.

  He swore vehemently as she made a poor imitation of bolting.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  Despite the uneven, undulating floor under her feet, she dodged Savage and the doorway came closer. She was stopped short and cried out sharply when he seized a fistful of her hair and jerked. She tumbled backward and struck her head. A brief flash of dancing lights, then her world went black.

  * * * * *

  Dawn wasn’t far away. The late winter sky was only shades lighter than pitch, but years of hunting vampires trained him to always know when the sun would come up. It had proved useful on more than one occasion.

  Ryan navigated the Volvo through the relatively light traffic. He was thankful this city never slept as it made it harder for Edmond to know he was coming. If his had been the only car on the road, it would’ve raised suspicion.

  He dropped a glance at the palm-sized GPS-cum-tracking monitor. Edmond was three blocks ahead of him and still on the move. Where the hell was the little blood sucker headed? He’d been traveling either on foot or in a vehicle with no discernible destination for the last forty-five minutes. Between Savage and him, had they injured Edmond enough to force him to stick to the ground? As much as he didn’t like taking on the vampire in unknown territory, Ryan couldn’t safely deal with him in a well-populated area. Too much risk for exposure, too much potential of collateral damage. He had to wait for the vamp to reach his destination, then he could scope out the area and move in.

  At this rate, he wasn’t going to make it back to the farm house before Mercy woke up.

  Ryan blew out a sigh. He’d almost managed to keep her out of his thoughts for a whole five minutes.

  Mercy had drifted into an exhausted sleep before the aftermath even started glowing, and Ryan had decided not to wake her when he left. He knew it was cowardly, but had he woken her, he might not have left at all.

  In the periphery of his vision, he saw the blinking red dot stop—and remain stopped. His pulse sped up. Months of watching and waiting were about to pay off. He eased down on the gas, and the sedan smoothly accelerated, eating up the three blocks he’d deliberately maintained for cover.

  He was in a densely populated residential area, high-rise apartment buildings stacked cheek to jowl on either side of the street. If Edmond used one of the apartments as a safe house, he wouldn’t have too much trouble remaining unnoticed in the mass of sixty- to eighty-hour-workweek yuppies.

  Ryan drove past the red dot, and his eyes went to the rearview mirror. A doorman in a navy and gold uniform was helping a woman emerge from the back of a taxi with one hand before closing the car door with the other. The woman stumbled and would’ve fallen had the doorman not been gripping her hand. Was she tipsy from excessive alcohol consumption or a late-night blood donation?

  Ryan was going to find out.

  He turned right at the corner and pulled the vehicle to the curb but didn’t kill the engine. The red dot started moving again. As it passed him on the monitor, so did the taxi on the street. There was no one in the vehicle besides the driver. What the hell? Had Edmond used the taxi earlier and the tracking device fallen off him?

  The cell phone sitting in the cup holder beeped once. Ryan reached for it, didn’t recognize the number displayed in the LED screen, but answered it anyway.

  “McGinnis, it’s Helsen.�
��

  His blood chilled.

  Chapter Five

  Consciousness came in drips and drabs. She became aware of the hard slab of stone under her head and body first. She wanted to move, to ease the discomfort and pain of being in the same position for too long. But an instinct too powerful to dismiss wouldn’t let her. Ignoring the burning in her muscles, she remained still, letting herself come to full wakefulness.

  Her head was filled with a throbbing mass that used to be her brain, but the rest of her felt as normal as it was going to get. Her hands and feet were bound together with something tight and wide. Tape. Probably duct tape, that all-purpose tool.

  Mercifully, she was still clothed, but the room was cold, drafty. Despite her vision being limited to the darkness behind her eyelids, she thought the room was large. Maybe even cavernous. A hint of salt teased her nostrils. Was she smelling the ocean? Was she being kept hostage in one of the many warehouses lining the waterfront?