“Coming into your own, I see,” he murmured, voice softly even, unsettling given the rage glittering in his eyes. His wrath cut through her, bitter as poison, and she knew she had to flee, had to save herself. She’d never felt such fury from him before. Not even when he fought lycans. This was personal.
“Where’s Darius?” he demanded.
“What?”
Her gaze flicked away, searching, hunting for a way out, away from him, from what he would do to her. He had not flown halfway around the world to save her. She wasn’t that naïve. If he’d come all this way, it was to finish this. Finish her.
“Darius,” he ground out, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. “Is he here?”
She looked down at herself, at her cotton nightgown that fell just above her knees. She crossed her arms over her chest, the gesture defensive and self-conscious. He made her feel that way. Young and awkward. Made her remember this was the man who had taken her virginity with a savagery that should have horrified her… instead of leaving her aching, wanting more even now.
His voice cracked on the air, making her jump. “Where is he?”
She tried to speak. “What are—”
He hauled her close, crushing her fist between their bodies. His other hand dug cruelly into the back of her neck, forcing her still. He inhaled against her neck, his face pressed hotly into her throat. She gasped. Wanting. Stark possessiveness.
Her body instantly reacted, responded to his in a mortifying flood of heat. “Did he have you?”
She shook her head. “No. Of course not. Why would he—”
“You left with him,” he announced flatly, a deadness entering his eyes, a contradiction to the flood of emotions tearing through him. Tearing through her.
“That doesn’t mean I’m with him now. He dropped me at the airport and then left. End of story.”
He stared at her, some of his tension lessening, but none of the anger. None of the resentment. He wanted to punish her. Hurt her. Anger still clawed through him. And more than that. Dark need. Hot desire. A hard ridge pressed into her belly. His hand dropped from her neck and cupped her ass, gripping it and lifting her against him. Moistness wet her panties. Her limbs grew heavy, molten, a clenching sensation starting low in her belly. God. Oh, God. Oh, God…
And she knew. Knew she had to run. Escape.
Now was her moment. Now or never.
“Can I get dressed?” she asked, having no idea if he would allow it.
He angled his head and considered her. The rage was there, dark and dangerous, a live pulsing thing on the air. “Why? I’m a heartbeat away from ripping your clothes off.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh. Is that how it’s going to be?”
He forced her hand down, pressing it over the hard length of him. “It’s how it has to be.”
She exhaled and did her best to sound enticing when adrenaline burned through her veins. “Then let’s go upstairs.”
He stared at her for a long moment, unblinking.
“A bed would be a welcome change,” she added, trying to sound tempting, going for coy. Her voice shook.
With a hard nod, he released her.
She turned and took the first step. Shooting a cautious look over her shoulder, she advanced several more. She knew he had to hear her heart pounding against her ribs and hoped he credited it to arousal and not her anxiety over what she was about to do.
Halfway up the stairs, she took a bracing breath and swung. With a grunt, she kicked him square in the chest with the flat of her foot. As hard as she could.
He flew off the stairs and through the air like a missile, striking the front door. She didn’t wait for him to rise. Didn’t wait to see if he was okay.
She turned and ran. Fire in her limbs. Heart rising to her throat. A prayer on her lips that he not catch her—not kill her.
In her room, she slammed the door behind her and rushed to her window. She flung it up and punched the screen free. Swinging one leg over the ledge, she vaulted onto the roof, sliding over the shingles.
The neighbor’s farm was only a couple of miles if she cut through the woods. Mr. Wilson would lend her his truck to get to Adele’s place. He was one of the few people who didn’t mutter freak beneath his breath when she walked past.
She dropped to the ground, not feeling the slightest jar to her body. She landed lightly on her feet… like brushing the bottom of a swimming pool. And she was off.
She took to the woods, warm wind rushing over her, tangling in her hair, the humming trees a blur in the night. Her bare feet flew over the ground, not feeling a twig or root.
A small light flickered ahead. A porch light. She was almost to the farm. Elation filled her. Soon the trees would clear and she would be at Mr. Wilson’s fence.
A shape surged from the trees like night coming to life, stepping in front of her. Dark eyes, light flashing in the centers… and she knew. She had not escaped. As fast as she moved, he moved faster. Tears of defeat stung her eyes.
Her arms flailed, as if swimming a backstroke to avoid him.
He stretched out a hand to catch her.
“No!”
He seized both her arms and hauled her until their noses nearly touched. “What the hell is wrong with you? When are you going to stop running? You should know that you can’t escape me.” He smiled cruelly, a jagged twisted movement of his lips. “Sweetheart, you might be a lycan now, but I’ve been at this game a hell of a lot longer than you. I can catch you with my eyes closed.”
She struggled, whimpering like captured prey, remembering only his vow to destroy all lycans—her.
“Ruby,” he growled, his voice thickening in that way that alerted her of his descent to darkness. Even if she hadn’t heard it, she would know. Would remember from that endless stretch of time with him in their bleak little prison.
Rage. Deadly and so tightly strung. He was ready to snap, erupt. He would turn, change into that thing that could so easily tear her apart. Only this time, he would feel justified in doing so. Because she was a creature that needed slaying. For the sake of mankind.
His hands on her didn’t budge.
Closing her eyes, she stopped struggling. She just . . . stopped.
She couldn’t beat him.
“Just make it quick.” The words slipped from her lips in a hushed rush.
“What?”
Bewilderment. Confusion.
She felt his frustration heighten and she rushed to clarify, “I know you don’t relish this. You think you have to do it… so do it.”
At least my soul will be safe. There was that to appreciate.
“You little fool.” His rage grew to a burning sear.
She hissed, the heat of it singeing her. She strained against his grip.
“You think I’ve come all this way to destroy you?”
“How likely is it we will find Gunter?” She shook her head. “You said yourself that you kill lycans. Hunt them down like dogs. That’s what you do.”
“But I wasn’t talking about you!”
He shook her slightly, dark, glowing eyes scanning her face. “Is that what you think of me? You probably saved my life, my soul at least, in that dungeon. And you think I would just destroy you?”
She opened her mouth, trying to explain that was what she felt from him. Even now. Rage. Conflict. Frustration. Feelings so intense and frightening she had to run. What else could any of it mean except that he was torn by his duty to destroy her?
“I feel you,” she whispered. “I feel everything you feel.”
His expression turned stoic. “Is that a fact?”
“Yes.” He knew it. She had not forgotten the way he turned from her when she told him she was an empath. “It sucks, but it lets me know things.” She thrust out her chin. “Like how you feel about me.”
A shutter fell over his eyes. “Oh, yeah? Well, then you don’t interpret emotions very well.”
She scowled. “Of course, I—”
&nbs
p; “You might feel what I feel, but you don’t understand what any of it means if you think I’m out to kill you,” he bit out.
She angled her head, watching him warily. “I feel your rage—”
He hauled her against his chest. “Maybe I’m furious at myself? Furious and filled with a killing rage for wanting this when I’ve already taken from you what I had no right to take?”
He kissed her then, his mouth hot, hungry and thorough, forcing her lips open for him. And like last time, his passion ran over. Blistering lust. Consuming her until she couldn’t identify her feelings from his. They were one and the same. She tasted her own desire on his lips.
This was not the kiss of someone bent on killing her. That much she knew. She didn’t know what he was to her anymore, but she knew right now that she needed this. Needed him.
He broke their kiss, his gaze scanning her face, heat erupting everywhere he looked. Desire. “No one is forcing us together right now. I’ve no excuse for doing this—”
“It wasn’t force then,” she uttered with absolute conviction, her blood a desperate burn in her veins. “It isn’t now.”
Tugging his head back down, she kissed him with all the dark need running rampant inside her.
Still kissing, they dropped to the ground, grass and twigs crackling beneath their bodies. Ruby had thought she wanted tenderness, wanted sweet, gentle lovemaking like she had fantasized about—before she knew what desire really felt like. But this fever couldn’t be slowed, couldn’t follow an easy pace.
Muttering about the uncomfortable ground, he settled on his back and splayed her body over his. The night sang around them, heavy with locusts and the rustling of small animals in the thick undergrowth. Their lips never broke as their clothes dropped away. Her hands trailed over every inch of him, following the hard lines and ridges, seeing him perfectly in the dark.
A scar puckered the flesh of one shoulder. She hadn’t noticed it before in the darkness of their prison. She traced it with one hand, following its winding path over his shoulder and descent down his back.
“I thought you regenerated.”
“That happened before I turned. An accident when I tried to clear the blades of a plow.” The rough rasp of his voice scraped the air. Goosebumps broke out over her flesh.
He caught her hand and brought it back to his chest. She felt the deep thud of his heart beneath her palm, beneath the smooth, supple texture of his skin.
He dark eyes gleamed. “I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you.”
“I’m not a woman anymore,” she dared to remind, moistening her lips. “Not that I’ve ever been… normal, Sebastian. Even before…”
His lips twisted. “Are you trying to scare me off? Look who you’re talking to. ‘Normal’ isn’t me.”
A heartbeat passed. The light at the centers of his eyes grew. Fire in the night. “Whatever you are, Ruby Deveraux, I want you. Not to hunt you. Or hurt you. But you. All of you.”
20
The ground and trees pulsed around them, humming, watching, listening. I want you. The words echoed in her head. It wasn’t the tender love-making Ruby imagined for herself should she ever come together with a man again. Only he wasn’t just a man. And she had already accepted how far from ordinary she was.
Their joining was just as wild and violent as the last time. Only this time, it couldn’t be blamed on Sebastian. No dark animal hunger drove him, frightening her in its force.
Straddling him, she sank over him, kissing him deeply. Her hand delved between them, closing around his satin hardness. He swelled in her hand. Groaning in her mouth, his tongue tangled with hers. She wiggled over him, teasing the head of him against her opening.
“Ruby,” he hissed, surging his hips upward and driving into her.
Her cry floated up to the trees. She arched her spine and ground down against him, seating herself fully, needing, craving closeness, to have him deeper.
The moon gleamed silver through the latticework of branches, watching, feeding her soul.
His hands lifted to her breasts, the callused pads of his palms rasping her tender flesh. Her nipples grew hard, sensitive, aching against his palms.
Ripples of pleasure eddied out from between her legs to every nerve ending in her body. His hands clasped her waist, lifting and lowering her over him. Again. And again. A deep moan built inside her throat at the drag of his flesh against her, inside her… at the hot flex of his hands on her breasts. Her head fell back as the torment grew, spiraling and twisting tighter and tighter between her legs.
Twigs and bramble caught in the ends of her hair trailing to the ground, but she couldn’t care, couldn’t stop quivering, trembling atop him as he drove into her. Harder. Faster. Deeper.
In the silvery glow of moonlight, she saw his face contort, blur in and out as the beast in him overcame the man. Only it didn’t horrify her. She opened herself, let her own demon beast take him deeper, take her farther, where the darkest of her cravings lurked.
She screamed his name, violent heat erupting through her as she burst. Her nails scored his shoulders until the faint fragrance of blood filled her nostrils.
Birds squawked and flew from their nests with shuddering wings at her savage cry, their sleep shattered. Half-blind with her orgasm, she watched them soar through the branches, dark smudges on the night. To her passion-blurred vision, it seemed they rose directly to the moon. The source of it all.
All her life she had fought emotions. The feelings of others. But in doing so, she had numbed herself to feeling her own heart.
Never had she lost herself like this. Lost herself to… herself. That gleaming moon brought out more than her feral nature. It brought out… her.
His release shuddered through her. She smoothed her palms over his shoulders, gentling her touch now that her blood pumped less fiercely. The slick skin of his body rippled and flexed under her hands. She felt his sense of gratification shared in it. He pulled back, his dark eyes with that flame writhing in the center gazed at her, looking at her. Seeing her. And she let him. For once, she didn’t want to run, to hide. Tenderness.
Rising, he pulled her to her feet and helped her dress. Through the trees, the lights of Mr. Wilson’s farmhouse flickered. She turned her back on it. Her hand in Sebastian’s, they walked home together.
Sebastian woke with a languorous stretch, sated as a well-fed cat beneath the jungle sun. His hand felt beside him, finding that side of the bed bare, only the faint indentation on the pillow indicating Ruby had been there.
Lifting his head, his gaze swept the room, appreciating it in the light of day. It was feminine, the soft blue paint soothing, furniture well-worn, antiques. Mismatched pieces that worked well together in the room.
Throwing back the floral-patterned comforter, he rose from the bed and slid on his jeans, for once not worried over Ruby’s whereabouts. He sensed her movements downstairs. Felt the steady pulse of her heart. Smelled the breakfast she cooked. Bacon. Eggs. Butter melting on warm toast.
His lips twisted as he made his way barefoot to the stairs, the old house’s wood floor creaking beneath his feet. A cabinet shut in the kitchen below over the sound of faint humming. He shook his head. So domestic. He’d be lucky to find a box of crackers in any one of his flats.
He would not have imagined himself in such a setting. With such a woman. Not a woman, a voice whispered in his head. A lycan. His smile slipped. Heaviness weighed his chest. Yes, there was still that.
The phone rang as he was halfway down the stairs. Ruby hurried from the kitchen, crossing in front of the stairs. He devoured the sight of her. The loose flow of her hair, a dark rich brown against her white blouse. She wore a loose skirt. Her feet were bare, the nails pink and shiny. Again, he was struck with the domesticity of it all. Of her. This house. A home, he realized with a jolt. The one thing he had never possessed. He’d come close those years with Rafe and his mother. Only it was hard to ever feel at home with a mother who stood over your bed w
ith a knife in her hand. Suddenly, he better understood Ruby’s need to come back here.
She spoke into one of those old rotary phones with the twisted cord.
“I know, I know… I was going to call you this morning…” A longer silence fell.
“Yes, I understand you, but I only got back yesterday.”
A certain thickness entered her voice. He took the last few steps. She looked up as he stopped beside her. Standing this close, he could smell the cinnamon and sugar on her. His stomach growled… and not just for food.
“Yes,” she murmured into the mouthpiece. “Fine. I’ll be here. See you then.”
When she lifted the phone from her ear, he took it and returned it to its home.
They stared at one another for a long moment. His heart beat hard in his chest, filling his ears.
“Hi,” she murmured, her voice a soft little breath that touched something deep inside him.
Without responding, he gathered two fistfuls of her skirt, bunching the fabric at her waist, looking at her intensely, drinking the sight of her.
“What—” Her words died when he slipped a hand beneath the edge of her panties. Finding her wet, he played with her slick folds, gliding a finger against her opening.
“Oh, God,” she cried when he exerted more pressure, easing that finger inside her. She clung to him, her body familiar and achingly sweet, her nails scoring his biceps. He kissed her long and deep.
Unable to wait, he folded an arm around her waist and lifted her. She moved forward eagerly, wrapping her legs around him. He locked gazes with her as he worked open his zipper and freed himself, wondering if she felt what he was feeling right now.
He entered her with a hard thrust. Groaning, he claimed her lips, swallowing her small cries as he pumped between her trembling thighs.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This good. This… everything. It never had been before.
Only she doesn’t know that. You’re her first. She probably thinks sex is this intense every time.
Part of him rebelled at that thought, wanting her to know that what they had was unparalleled, nothing she would ever find with another man. The other part of him knew it was for the best if she thought she could get this anywhere… with anyone. That way it wouldn’t crush her when he moved on. As he naturally would.
To Crave a Blood Moon Page 15