by Lee, Rachel
“Go ahead, Creed,” she said. “Take it into the bedroom for her. I’ll sail out of here anyway after a quick nap.”
Not needing to conceal his speed, it didn’t take Creed long to move things into the bedroom to ensure Yvonne’s comfort if she woke before nightfall.
Mere seconds later, he stood in the doorway to his bedroom. “Ready, Yvonne?”
“Ready is a word that doesn’t seem to apply around you,” she remarked.
“How so?”
“You do everything so fast that I barely get time to blink before everything has changed.”
In spite of himself, he grinned as she eased past him into the bedroom.
“See you tonight,” Chloe called after them.
Inside the bedroom, Creed closed and locked the door. “I guess I’ll have to clean up later,” he said. “Any minute now…”
“I know.” Yvonne stretched out on the bed. “I’ll wash up after you go to sleep.”
The pull of death was growing stronger. He felt it coming like a panther determined to devour him. He started to lower himself to the floor but Yvonne stopped him.
“Creed?”
“Yes?”
“If all I can give you is some warmth, please let me. If it won’t be too uncomfortable.”
Oddly, that seemed like the most comfortable thing in the world. As the sleep of death approached, other instincts grew weaker because he couldn’t act on them. Surely it was safe in the twilight between waking and death?
So he lay beside her on the bed, on his back. And when she curled close, resting her arm over his waist, her warmth breath caressing his neck, he felt a warmth that far exceeded any he had ever known as a mortal. It was a gift the beauty of which she could not begin to imagine.
“Thank you,” he managed to whisper. Then, feeling safe in the twilight place, he fought back sleep and turned toward her wrapping her in his arms. He should have been surprised but somehow he wasn’t when she moved even closer, pressing her length to him.
He was past feeling the sexual, only aware of her wonderful warmth. “If you grow uncomfortable, just move,” he said.
Then death claimed him, a dark emptiness where not even dreams could find him.
Chapter 8
Much to her amazement, Yvonne slept the entire day away. Apparently stress and fatigue had caught up with her, but when she awoke she was curled tightly around Creed, who felt cooler now than when she had fallen asleep. Wrapped in her favorite blue sweat suit, she felt warm enough, and found it easy to wind herself around him, although she wondered if he could feel the heat of her body in his....
In his what? Was he really dead? She couldn’t tell if he was breathing, and when she laid her head on his chest, she heard no heartbeat. Yet he said he could be wakened if necessary, so he couldn’t really be dead.
The ravages Luc had wrought on his chest were gone as if they had never been, the shredded, slightly bloody shirt the only evidence.
She studied him in awe, and something warm curled up like a kitten in her heart. He had trusted her completely. Trusted her not to harm him when he was as helpless as he could be. Trusted her not to fling the door open and let the light in. Trusted her not to take advantage of his helplessness.
That was trust indeed.
Sighing, she laid her head on his shoulder again and waited for some sign of life. It wouldn’t be long now, she was certain.
She wanted to share the moment with him, to truly see what it was like. He called it resurrecting. Was that really what it was?
Ordinarily she would have been annoyed with herself for missing an entire day’s writing, but not today. She had needed the sleep. Even more she had seemed to need these moments of intimacy, to realize what he had offered her.
To face the fact that he had given her utter trust and that she seemed to be unable to give him the same. Her cheeks heated when she remembered his response to her offer to give him her blood. Now that she was calmer, she could easily understand why he had been so offended.
He was not her mother. Not by the least word or sign had he indicated that she was an unwanted burden. Maybe she could learn from him.
Maybe she could learn for the first time that friendship need not be a debt that must somehow be repaid. That it was possible to act out of sheer kindness without expecting something back.
She wrote such characters in her novels all the time. But they were, to her way of thinking, a mythical ideal, as mythical as the creatures she created out of whole cloth. Heroes of fantasy, never of reality.
Just then an ugly thought wound its way into her head and made her nearly gasp with pain. So he said she owed him nothing? But what if that was because he was being paid to watch her? Before she could even begin to deal with how that idea made her feel, he awoke.
She felt Creed jerk and heard him draw a sharp breath. She lifted her head at once and found his face locked into a grimace, his eyes wide open. Then he drew another breath, and his expression relaxed.
Slowly his black-as-night eyes tracked to her. “Have you been here all day?”
“Mostly. I slept. Does it hurt when you wake up?”
“As if every cell in my body is filled with fire. It passes quickly.” He smiled almost gently. “Your warmth. Thank you. It feels especially good right now.”
So she curled in closer, because it seemed like the least she could do. But the ugly question wouldn’t rest. “Is Jude paying you to help me?”
“No. I don’t need money.” He fell silent for a moment, then to her amazement she felt him stroke her hair gently. “Are you still questioning my motives?” At least now he didn’t sound angry about it.
“No. Not exactly. I just…I have a hang-up.”
“About what?”
“I don’t ever again want to be a burden.”
“Who taught you that?”
She turned her head to conceal her face from him, and even then the words didn’t seem to want to come. It was one of those things she could think about, when she let herself, but never had spoken about. In some essential way she felt shamed.
“Yvonne? Did no one ever teach you that some burdens can be borne with joy?”
She caught her breath. His words seemed to plummet straight to her heart. “No.”
He fell silent for a minute, still stroking her hair lightly. “When I was a father, my children could sometimes be burdensome. Things they needed or wanted. It was my greatest joy to be able to provide for them. I never begrudged it. Well, all right, almost never. There were a few silly things they wanted that irritated me. But mostly I felt happy about meeting their needs. And I missed it when I could no longer do it except from a distance.”
Yvonne’s heart squeezed painfully, for herself, for him. “How did you help from a distance?”
“I was always able to see that they had enough to eat, adequate shelter even in hard times. Medical care when they couldn’t afford it. Sometimes I think I may have helped too much because I felt so awful at having to abandon them in every other way. But when I could do something to make their lives easier or better, it was my privilege to do so. I still watch over my great-grandchildren, although by and large they need almost nothing that I’m able to give.”
He stopped stroking her hair, caught her beneath the chin with one fingertip, and turned her face up. “Who made you feel like such a burden?”
She answered obliquely. “I wish I’d had a parent like you.”
His face stilled. His dark gaze grew distant. “I see,” he said finally, and she believed he did. Then he looked at her again and gave her a crooked smile. “I’d much rather be your lover than your parent, if you don’t mind.”
Her world tilted in an instant, and her insides turned warm and syrupy. Time seemed to slow down as she hovered in exquisite and painful anticipation and hope. All the things she had been worrying about and trying to work out vanished in a yearning so intense she felt like a drawn bow.
His arms snaked around her gently, tho
ugh she could feel the strength in them, and he turned until they met face-to-face, body-to-body. Shocks erupted from every point of contact. She drew a deep, quick breath as she melted into him and gazed into his eyes.
They were golden, gloriously golden.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, sliding his fingers into her hair to cup the back of her head. “You have no idea. And you’re not just beautiful. Your scent is intoxicating.”
She offered no more than an incoherent murmur in response.
“Tell me if I frighten you,” he said.
Her heart nearly stopped. Frighten her how? She didn’t care because she was certain that all she wanted right now was to find out what it was like to make love to a vampire. All his warnings couldn’t quell her desire for him.
And he seemed about to…about to…
Slowly, very slowly as if to give her every chance to object, he moved his face closer and finally their lips touched. Lightly at first, then more hungrily as she arched into him, wanting, needing, to be closer.
His kiss was deep, passionate, stealing her breath and her mind along with it. She responded in kind, dimly aware she reached up to clasp the back of his head so he would not pull away.
She was going somewhere she had never gone before, of that she was certain. No kiss had ever stirred her like this, never had a simple kiss made her feel a prisoner to need.
When he at last tore his mouth from hers, she gasped desperately for air, but just as desperately tried to bring him back.
“Easy,” he whispered. “Easy.”
Easy? She didn’t want easy. For the first time in her life she wanted to be conquered into total submission and carried away like a captive on the feelings he evoked.
He must have sensed her need, or smelled it, because he came back for another kiss, and another, lifting her higher into the universe of passion. But each time she tried to touch him, to pull at his clothing, to act on some of her feelings, he hushed her gently, soothed her to a lower plane of need.
Then she stiffened. Unmistakably she felt his teeth. A gentle nip just below her collarbone, not enough to break the skin she was sure. But that nip was the most electrifying thing he had yet done, and she heard herself saying, “Please, Creed. Oh, please!”
“Don’t move,” he said huskily. “Whatever you do, don’t move.”
She gave the barest nod of comprehension, stiffening herself to hold still. She felt the lap of his tongue, cool and soothing. Moments later her heart skipped into a higher rhythm, loud in her own ears. Or was that his heart? She couldn’t tell… There seemed to be two heartbeats.
Orgasmic pleasure flooded her entire body, something she wouldn’t have dreamed possible. Her brain fogged with yearning for more, and then she grew overwhelmed by a sense that she and Creed were one. His heart and hers, two hearts beating independently, began to beat in precisely matching rhythms. She lost all sense of where she ended and he began, and gave herself up to it.
His hands stroked her, kneading her breast to an aching peak. But more than what she felt in her own body, she was certain she was feeling it from his perspective, too. She was kneaded and stroked, and kneading and stroking.
And when his hand slipped down to touch her between her legs, through layers of cloth, she felt not only her response, but his, a dual hit of desire, aching, yearning, throbbing, so magnified that it left her senseless of everything but sensation.
She didn’t know how it was possible nor did she have the ability to wonder. Instead she felt racked, imprisoned in a cycle of need: him, her, the two of them, rising as one ever higher on pain and pleasure until she thought she would literally shatter.
Perfect. Perfect in every single instant. A rising tide of desire, hunger, need, lifted her up. Hers or his she couldn’t tell. It was more than enough to be lifted, to be swept away toward a pinnacle she could barely imagine.
Each time their hearts throbbed, her body throbbed, too. Each breath she took was answered by a deep, quiet groan from him.
Then came exultation. She was feeding him in the way he most needed. At that moment she’d have gladly given him every drop of her blood, and died in a state of bliss.
All of a sudden, the connection vanished and she tumbled back to reality to feel him gently licking her skin where she had earlier felt his nip.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting his head. “I shouldn’t have done that. But I didn’t take very much.”
She didn’t know what upset her more: having the incredible experience end this way or hearing him apologize for showing her a transcendent experience.
Feeling weak, wanting more, all she could do was press a finger to his lips. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t have missed that for anything.”
His expression grew grim. “I was afraid of that.”
Her voice grew stronger. “It’s better to have some experiences only once than to miss them entirely.”
His gaze leaped to hers, his yellow eyes intense. “Easy to say, hard to know. Never forget I’m a predator. I just crossed a line I shouldn’t have. And now it’ll be even harder not to cross it again.”
She gasped, and in an instant he slid away. The next she saw of him, he stood in the bathroom doorway.
“I need to clean up, and need to think of other things than all the ways I want you. All the ways I’d like to love you.” He paused, then added, “You really mustn’t tempt me, Yvonne. All those things Luc did? I’m capable of them, too, and worse. Never forget, in my essential nature I’m a hunter, and I’m everything that goes along with that.”
He left her breathless. Speechless. He closed the door quietly and she rolled back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. No one, absolutely no one, had ever made her feel like this before, as if she couldn’t breathe, as if her body had turned to warm molasses. The fear he’d tried to make her feel couldn’t even penetrate the heat and longing he’d aroused. And never, not even in the earliest, giddiest days with Tommy had she ever felt such a strong connection.
She was tempted to do something she had never done before: walk into that bathroom and make herself available. Instigate. Be bold.
But then she remembered his description of claiming. His self-proclamation that he was a predator. It was enough to nearly freeze her.
Not for herself, but for him. Did she want to risk causing him that kind of pain? Especially when she hardly knew him and couldn’t begin to guarantee that she’d want to stay with him?
Questions swirled in her head as she continued to stare at the ceiling.
What was she getting into here? How far did she want to go? Even the threat of Asmodai seemed distant and inconsequential in comparison.
Not good, she thought, pushing herself off the bed. Somehow she had to get her priorities straight. First a demon who terrified her, one she hardly believed in though she had felt his presence. Then, and only then, other stuff.
Because then and only then could she be sure she was thinking straight, not just feeling.
And she knew all too well where these sorts of feelings had gotten her once before.
Beyond the windows, the last glow of the setting sun rimmed the world with gold, and clouds overhead gleamed striking colors of red.
Yvonne looked down at her coffee mug, trying to remembering the wanting, the hunger, she had felt only a short time ago. Her limited experience had taught her sex was nice, but not something worth craving. Now she craved Creed.
But with him, it was so much more complex than a powerful craving. There was danger involved, danger he kept trying to warn her about, and yet the danger only seemed to whet her appetite.
Suddenly she laughed. Talk about a new insight into herself!
“What’s so funny?”
She turned and saw Creed emerging from the bedroom with a bag of blood in his hand.
“Oh, something I just realized about myself. I thought you didn’t need to eat every day?”
“We’re going to Jude’s office. That
means passing through the vampire deli of mortals going about their business on the streets, and spending time with a few humans who, I admit, tend to smell like a well-laid banquet table.”
“Do I smell like that to you?”
“That and more. Much more. But it’s best to be sated when I have to wander among mortals. I don’t see the point in making temptation any harder to resist.”
She touched her breast just below the collarbone, feeling again the tiny scabs. “You drank from me.”
“Yes. Are you angry?”