He leaned forward. “I know that I’m a temporary fill-in to the vampire prime post until my sister recovers,” he said, “but believe me when I say that if you mess with me on this, you mess with Nightwing, and my father’s name will not protect you from my wrath.” He let his eyes flash red.
“Your father was right to send me to watch—” Enzo sneered “—this is your mother all over again.”
Lucien resisted the urge to punch his father’s guardian square in the face. “This has nothing to do with my mother, and you’d do well never to mention her name in my presence again. I have a tendency to lash out. You’ve been warned. Now, run back to Papa. This conversation is over.”
He pushed Enzo out of the doorway—admittedly with a little more force than necessary, but he did enjoy the surprise on the guardian’s face when he flew across the hall and crashed into the wall opposite. Lucien slammed the door shut, locked it and then watched through the peephole as Enzo picked himself up and dusted himself off. The guardian glared at the door, the muscle in his jaw ticking, and then he stormed off down the hall.
Lucien eyed the crack in the plaster left behind by the guardian. He’d ask Heath to put it on his tab.
He turned to find Natalie staring at him, a slight frown on her face. “What did he mean with that crack about your mother?”
“Nothing,” Lucien muttered as he stalked across the room toward his bedroom. “We should probably get some sleep.”
Natalie shook her head. “No, that vampire was ready to tie up this little loose end, as you so nicely put it, so I want to know why. What did he mean this was your mother all over again?”
Lucien looked over at her. She’d planted her feet, hands on hips, chin up—just like she’d done that night when she was twelve and insisted she really was well enough to visit the Marchetta night garden.
The night his mom died.
“My father blames me for my mother’s death.”
Chapter 14
The admission brought forth old hurts and he stalked toward one of the bedrooms in an effort to distance himself from them, if only by shutting down the conversation. Natalie’s hand flashed out, catching his arm, her expression confused. “Why would he think that?”
“Because maybe I am responsible for my mother’s death.” It had been several years since the event but, even now, the pain and guilt weighed heavily on him. Her hand slid from his arm. He didn’t think she noticed the retreat, the physical withdrawal...but he did.
“But—your mother died in the Nemuritor Ball fire, didn’t she?” Natalie said, her brow wrinkling. It had been a horrific tragedy. The ball had been held in the historical ballroom on Pier Sixty-One, and the whole pier had burned that night. “You couldn’t have killed your mother. You were with me that night.”
He looked away. “I’m going to bed.” He wasn’t going to discuss this with her. He strode into the bedroom, flicking the light switch on as he went. The bedside lamps turned on, giving his room a subdued light over the bed, the rest of the bedroom still hidden in gloom.
“Lucien, please, why does your father think your mother’s death is your fault?”
Damn it, she’d followed him in. He gestured to the door but she pointedly ignored him. He sighed. “Leave it alone, Natalie. It happened so long ago, it’s water under the bridge.”
“Well, apparently not,” she stated, walking further into his room. “Not if your father’s guardian thinks it’s happening all over again. What does he mean?”
“I don’t want to talk about this. Let’s just get some sleep and I’ll drive you home tomorrow night.” He leaned over and pulled the covers back on the bed.
“That was the night you took me to your night garden,” she said.
He whirled on her, angry that she was pushing, prodding him for information he didn’t want to give. Angry for the memories the conversation was stirring up. The guilt. The pain. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
She didn’t even blink, damn it. Her chin rose. “Why not? I could go to your father, explain to him—”
He laughed in derision. “Explain what? That the reason I snuck out of that ball and left my mother to her socializing was because I had promised to take some sick little twelve-year-old to visit our night garden?”
He instantly regretted his words as dread crept into her gaze. “What?” she asked, her voice low and hoarse.
He closed his eyes briefly. Damn. He’d never wanted this conversation with her—with anyone. He hadn’t even told Vivianne. He rested his hands on his hips and sighed.
“I’d promised to take you to our night garden, so once Mom and I arrived at the ball and she’d settled into her cozy group of friends, I snuck out. The plan was to take you for that visit, see you safely back home, and then return to my mother’s side, hopefully without her noticing my absence.” His lips tightened over his teeth in a bitter smile. “They locked all the exits and then set the fire. If any of the vampires had managed to escape, they would have ended up in the harbor.”
He winced. Trinity Harbor was a saltwater port, and highly corrosive to vampires. The vampires who had managed to jump from the burning building had died an excruciating death in the water as the salt ate at their skin. He could still remember arriving at the scene, aghast at the flames shooting into the night sky, cringing at the screams of the vampires trapped within. He couldn’t get in to save his mother, the flames too hot, too high, too volatile. Those screams still haunted him...he’d never quite managed to escape the nightmare of his imagination. Those dreams of what his mother must have experienced still occasionally caught him by surprise.
He shrugged, trying to mask his pain behind a pragmatic front. “My father feels that I shouldn’t have abandoned my mother when she most needed me.” And he’d been trying to make up for that ever since.
Natalie folded her arms around her middle and turned away from him. “I’m so sorry,” she said finally. He frowned. Her words carried sympathy, but they were also heavily laden with guilt. He shook his head as he came up behind her, his hands rising to rest on her shoulders.
“It wasn’t your fault, Natalie. Nobody was ever brought to justice for that attack on the vamps, but you had nothing to do with it.”
“But I took you away from your mother,” she said in a voice that was so soft, so full of remorse, it was almost childlike.
“Well, as you pointed out before, if I’d remained, I would have died along with her,” he said, pushing away at the guilt. Ever since that night he’d tried to make it up to his father, tried to compensate for abandoning his mother, as his father put it. He’d become very protective, fierce, even, when it came to taking care of his family, of their interests. He’d successfully built up a division of the Marchetta empire that easily swamped its previous success. His father had changed, though. Vincent Marchetta had sworn vengeance against the lycans, the party everyone suspected guilty of the deed but could not prove responsible. His father had been working against them ever since.
“You left for the west coast after that.” Did she realized she’d swayed toward him? He slid his hands down her arms and gathered her close, his hands resting lightly on her hips. He should focus on the conversation. But she was wearing his shirt and looked so damn sexy in it...
He blinked. “I did.” It had been for the best. His presence was an irritant to his father, a reminder that for every day Lucien lived, his departed wife did not. While Vincent still viewed his actions that night as abandoning his mother at her most vulnerable moment, of betraying the Marchetta family in the worst possible manner, he’d stopped short of disowning him. Everyday since, Lucien had tried to make it up to his father. He’d worked his butt off on the west coast. Now, with Vivianne in the state she was, if he didn’t find a cure, he feared his father would blame him for her death, too. But despite his father’s plans, and his
desire to support his father, he couldn’t allow Natalie to die simply for trying to help them. He would never support that. She was becoming far too important to him.
She shook her head and he felt the strands tickle his chin. “And now your father blames you for her death. I need to see him, explain to him—I’m so sorry.”
He was stunned. She was concerned—about him. She wanted to go to Vincent to defend him, to try to repair that relationship. That realization overwhelmed him. She’d said she didn’t like vampires—or werewolves, and really, he was in total agreement with that one—but now she felt sympathy, guilt and regret—for him. Ever since his mother died, he’d tried to protect those he loved, and now this woman wanted to protect him. A wave of possessiveness swept through him. He couldn’t let her walk away when this whole thing was over, damn it.
He buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes and inhaling. Her scent, that sweet spice—innocent invitation—curled inside him, awakening a fierce sense of protectiveness and a healthy dose of hot arousal. “You do realize you’re in my room, next to my bed...” His voice emerged from his throat in a low rumble.
“Do you—?” Her voice came out all breathless and whispery. She cleared her throat. “Do you want me to leave?” Her words were polite, but she tilted her head to the side, exposing the delicate line of her jaw and neck to his lips.
“I don’t think I can let you go,” he said, his voice rumbling against the tender spot just behind her ear. Both physically, in the now, and metaphorically, in the future, he didn’t think he could let her go. Not willingly. Not without a fight. He felt her tremble in his arms. He pressed a kiss at the spot where her ear, jaw and throat converged in a creamy column. He was conscious of using lips instead of teeth. He didn’t want to spook her.
“You—you might have to,” she murmured huskily, leaning her head back against his shoulder. He smiled against her skin and gently lifted his cotton shirt, moving nice and slow until he could run his fingers across the bare, smooth skin above the waistband of her jeans. Her stomach muscles clenched beneath his touch and he saw her lips part on a sexy little gasp.
He used his other hand to grasp her hair and turn her head gently toward him. Her eyes were all beautiful golds with streaks of gray. “Never,” he whispered, taking her lips in a possessive kiss.
* * *
Natalie closed her eyes and moaned, and Lucien’s tongue slid inside her mouth to rub against hers. His hand tightened in her hair and her stomach dipped as he caressed her abdomen. His hand was beneath her shirt.
Heat swept over her and she relaxed against his chest. His body supported hers, his groin cradling her buttocks, and she could feel his cock hardening, lengthening, pressing into her cleft. Her breasts swelled and she arched her back as his fingers danced over her skin, rising beneath the shirt. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest.
She slid one arm up over her head, sliding her fingers through his hair, her other hand lowering to rest on the side of his hip. All the while his tongue toyed with hers, licking, gliding. He tilted his head, changing the angle, deepening the penetration.
She moaned again, barely recognizing the sound as her own. Her nipples pebbled and she shuddered when he trailed his finger softly across the skin just below her lace bra. Good grief, the man was touching her so delicately, so teasingly, and she felt ready to combust. Her heart pounded even faster and she pressed herself against him at the same time she arched into his touch.
His hand trailed over the top of her bra and he hissed, jerking against her. He lifted his head, his blue eyes glittering with carnal desire. “Perhaps we could lose the chain?” he suggested in a whisper against her lips. She realized she still wore her lariat chain around her neck. She slid her hand from his hip up her body, watching his gaze as he watched her movement. She skimmed over her breasts and he closed his eyes briefly.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he muttered then met her gaze again. She smiled as she touched the silver around her neck. Natalie hesitated. She’d commissioned this particular piece of jewelry not long after leaving the psych ward, and had grown used to its weight and the security it offered.
He dipped his head close to hers. “I’ll never hurt you,” he whispered.
“I know,” she whispered back. She gave the unique twist-and-jerk motion and the chain slid from her neck, pooling onto the floor. She trusted him. She couldn’t explain why, not logically, but inside, where it mattered, she did. She trusted him.
And it had nothing to do with the mounting sexual tension coiling inside her.
His lips took hers again and she gasped in delight as he cupped her lace-covered breast with his hand. He let go of her hair, his hand dropping to her waist, pulling her in closer as he rubbed his cock against the cleft in her buttocks.
She writhed in answer, her core growing damp with her desire. She trembled. Despite the fact he wore no shirt, they still didn’t quite touch skin to skin except where his hands skimmed her body beneath his shirt. One hand pulled down the cup of her bra, the other unfastened the button of her jeans. She moaned into his mouth as he slid her zipper down. Tormentingly slow. She reached behind her, sliding her hand between their bodies until she could feel the hard ridge of flesh pushing against his jeans.
He growled softly, the sound possessive, primitive, and he ground against her. He tore his lips from hers, kissing his way across her jaw to her neck. She trembled as his fingers slid into the opening of her jeans, beneath the lacy edge of her bikini briefs. She was so hot, so damp, her breaths coming in hot pants.
“Maybe we should—” She moaned as his finger parted her slick folds. She had no idea what she was saying, all thoughts whirling away like smoke in the wind.
His tongue flicked out along the line of her throat and he grasped her chin, tilting her head to give him more access. “Maybe we should,” he said in agreement. He kissed his way down her throat as he toyed with her, his finger rubbing her clitoris.
“Uh-huh,” she panted as the tension coiled within her. Sensations were bombarding her, his strength holding her up as he played with her. Her breasts swelled, her back arched. So much. Too much. She trailed her hand down his zipper. He felt so hot, so hard, throbbing through the denim and metal.
“That’s it,” he whispered against her, his hand sliding down to cup the breast he’d freed. He gently pinched her nipple and clitoris simultaneously, and she sucked in her breath, her eyes closing as that coil tightened further.
“Luc,” she gasped as he circled her slick flesh. Her knees trembled and he slid another finger inside.
“Let go, minx. Let go.” He cupped her breast, lifting it as he teased her clitoris again in a taunting little pinch, and this time those sensations burst inside her. She tilted her head back and cried out as the orgasm tore through her with surprising force, hot and ferocious.
Chapter 15
Natalie sagged in his arms, trembling. He felt ready to explode, but grappled with his desire. He wanted to thrust into her, to bring her more pleasure, to bring him some release. And if it were any other woman, he would have. But this wasn’t any other woman, this was Natalie. It was too soon. They may not have fully shared their intimate attraction, but things were now different. She’d gone into that bunker, alone. To help save his sister. She hadn’t had to. When he’d been barred she could have just shrugged, turned around and gone home, her end of the deal fulfilled. But, no, she’d risked her life for his personal mission, and had been injured in the process.
When he made love to Natalie—and that’s what it would be, love, not some quick, brief physical interlude—he wanted her to be as fully conscious and accepting of the consequences. When he made love to her—and, yes, when, not if—he didn’t want there to be any regrets, any recriminations, any retreat.
He smiled as he enveloped her in his arms, caressing her, soothing her sexual euphoria.
There was no need to rush this. When they did it, they would do it right. He had no intention of walking away from her, not now. Not ever. But she’d been hurt by his breed, and he wasn’t about to risk a future with Natalie by pushing her before she was ready. He could wait. Need bit at him. It would be excruciating, but he’d wait. He held her until her trembles subsided, then swept her into his arms to lay her gently on the bed. She cupped his face, meeting his gaze with a stunned yet satiated expression, her lips swollen from his kisses, her skin flushed.
“What about you?” Her voice was husky and skittered along his raw nerves. She trailed her finger across his lips and he caught it in a playful nip, then kissed it softly.
“Soon,” he promised as he leaned down to kiss her on the lips. She sighed into his mouth and it took all of his control not to strip them both and finish what he’d started. He levered back from her, smiling at her heavy-lidded gaze. “We have plenty of time.”
“But—” she protested.
He shook his head. “Soon,” he promised again. He untied the straps of her sheath and placed it on the bedside table. He trailed his hands down her long, slender legs and removed her shoes. His eyebrows rose when a blade fell out of one of the boots.
“Protection.” She sighed the explanation as she stretched on the bed.
“You can now add me to that mix,” he told her quietly. He eyed her, his mouth drying when he took in her relaxed pose. Unbelievably, she was still pretty much clothed, although he must have lost some of his shirt buttons. The fabric parted to reveal her smooth, toned stomach, the fly of her jeans opened to reveal the top of her soft-pink lace panties. He swallowed as his cock throbbed. Plenty of time, he reminded himself. Good things come to those who wait, although those who wait don’t necessarily come. His hands curled. Plenty of—okay, he had to leave before he joined her on that bed.
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