by Jessica Lee
“I am Jean-Claude Desportes. And you are, monsieur?” Jean-Claude leaned against the back of his chair, rocking it with his weight. He rested his elbows on the arms of his black leather chair and steepled his fingers. The male sported a shitload of arrogance in front of the two guards who had filed into the room, replacing Goliath. They took their positions around their boss, flanking each side of his desk.
“Does it really matter?” Arran studied the lack of expression reflecting back at him from across the desk. Control. Impressive. On another day and in another place, he might have liked this male. But not tonight. His meeting with Jean-Claude served one purpose: to bring him closer to Markus, which in turn would take him to Marguerite. And he hoped—or didn’t hope—to Alexandria.
“You’re trespassing in my territory. And that means I at least get your name, and if it suits me, your head, for your disrespect.”
The former warrior held back from laughing at the humor that remark held. That feat would take more than what this pompous excuse had in the room. “I need you to get a message to someone for me.”
The wheels of the chair squealed as the French vampire pushed back and slammed his hands onto the desk. He loomed over the wooden top and the mounds of papers, his eyes cherry red and his fingers splayed, supporting the weight of his upper body. “Do I look like a fucking pigeon to you?”
“Well, now that you mention it…” Arran didn’t miss the sudden move of JC’s suited guard dogs, but their boss’s hand leaving the desk halted their approach. Damn. He could have used the exercise.
“You have a lot of balls, or maybe you’re just fucking stupid, coming into my territory and insulting me.” JC’s gaze flicked from him to Gabrielle right before he lifted his chin in her direction. Arran caught the signal. There wasn’t time for a strategic plan, only basic elemental response. Kill or be killed. This was the world he knew. All too well.
Before the guard’s hand reached her throat, Arran flashed in front of Gabrielle. He seized the vampire’s forearm, and with one hard twist and the satisfying snap of bone, the male howled and sank to his knees. Arran dropped the vampire’s arm and whipped around, prepared to take the next one down, when the scene before him glued his boots to the floor.
And had his heart swelling with pride.
Gabrielle stood holding one of the wooden chairs upside down with the top of the backrest jammed beneath the other guard’s throat. Agonized moans rolled from the male beneath the chair, but the source of his pain wasn’t centered on the wood at his neck. Arran grinned. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had the vampire trying to regress into the position he’d last seen inside his mother’s womb. One look at the way his hands searched for the location his balls had last been told the whole story.
Oh, yeah, the little minx knew how to hit where it hurt. He’d have to remember that. But right now, the view of her and all those curves barely contained in skintight leather, and holding a full-grown male vampire to the floor… Damn, it was enough to risk the damage.
“Assez!”
The booming voice of the former master filled the room and brought everyone to a standstill. Even though the exact meaning of the word wasn’t understood, the method in which it was delivered crossed the language barrier. Arran watched proudly as Gabrielle yanked the chair away from the guard’s throat and shoved him across the floor. She stepped back, but her gaze remained fixed on the moaning vampire. Someday, he’d have to thank Logan for training her. She’d learned a valuable lesson: never take your eyes off a wounded predator. That was when they became the most dangerous.
Only three steps into her retreat, the guard flew from the floor and straight for her. The six-inch blade from Arran’s boot found its mark in the center of the bloodsucker’s heart. The screeching body fell to the floor at her feet. She stumbled back. Arran reached to steady her, but she’d recovered her balance. A pop and a sizzle released from the body as the silver took the male on his flaming road to hell.
“I said, enough!”
Arran jerked his head back in the direction of the former master’s bellow. Jean-Claude slammed his fist onto his desk, and then with both hands, swiped the top clean. Metal clattered to the floor, followed by a shower of white paper. “You son of a bitch, this is my territory—”
“Well, now, that’s just some fucked-up shit”—Arran cut him off and braced his palms on the empty spread of the desk, facing him—“because from what I hear, this isn’t your territory anymore.” Oh yeah, that info spill seemed to freeze the hinge on Jean-Claude’s jaw. It hung open, exposing the white tips of his unsheathed fangs. “That’s what I thought.” The lack of denial confirmed what the former warrior already knew. Arran straightened. “Tell Markus an old friend is in town and wants to see him. Here. Tonight.” He glanced to his right, and Gabrielle moved in. Arran looked back, meeting the former master’s fiery, narrowed gaze.
“Impossible,” he scoffed. “What makes you think Markus jumps when I call?” He pushed back in his chair. “Like you said, it’s not my territory anymore. You need to give me time to arrange a meeting with him myself to even deliver your invitation.”
“Fine,” Arran stated. “Twenty-four hours, and I’ll be back.”
…
Elle’s heart rate had almost returned to status quo from the events at Wicked Ways. Almost. And it would have, except for the fact she had her arms wrapped around the one man who was like a dose of adrenaline to her bloodstream. She rested her helmet-protected head on his back and listened to the hum of the motorcycle underneath them.
Damn face shield. She repositioned, wishing she could press her nose into the leather at his back and take his scent deep into her lungs. God, she loved the way he smelled. The way he felt. She smoothed the palms of her hands against his abdomen. He tensed beneath her. Raw power rippled in the body wrapped in leather beneath her fingertips. She’d seen the evidence of that tonight. And if she’d wanted him before, it was nothing like the need that hammered inside her for him tonight. If only she were sure. Sure she could handle what making love to Arran would entail.
Fighting. Yeah, that she could deal with. The kicking, punching, hell, even a catfight with fingernails and all didn’t scare her.
But the fangs—that’s where her nightmares could be found.
The motorcycle rolled to a stop in front of her sister’s apartment. Arran killed the engine and slid free of the bike, turned, and offered her his hand. His black and blond hair, punished by the wind, was wild and fell into his face, allowing only a hint of his sage green eyes to shine through. The way he looked at her, standing there—Elle swallowed, trying to find the moisture that had suddenly disappeared from her mouth. God help her, but he made her want to grab the nearest collar and chain him to her bed.
Elle pushed the helmet up and off her head and took a gulp of the cool air before taking Arran’s offered hand. The roughened feel of his skin, the strength of his grip, the man was a stabilizing rod in the fierce storm she called her life. Arran squeezed her hand, sending a spark straight to her heart and mind. He had to have felt it too, didn’t he? Their connection. The desire. It was too powerful to ignore. And it wasn’t fair to either of them.
With his free hand, he took her helmet. After laying it on the seat, he placed his palm to her cheek, and she leaned into the small embrace.
“Are you okay?” The deep timbre of his voice was a caress down the curve of her spine. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, savored the lingering sensation of his words on her nervous system. The feel of his skin next to hers.
“Yes.” She opened her eyes, and he’d closed the distance between them. He placed both of his hands on either side of her face. The intensity of his stare, the passion that flamed there, threw a match onto an already kindled fire.
“You were amazing tonight, kitten.” The adoration in his words and his expression swelled her heart to near bursting. His thumbs stroked her face. The easy pace and gentle touch made her yearn for the feel of h
is fingers elsewhere and much deeper. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but his hand slid lower. His thumb found her bottom lip and traced the curve. A shiver raced up her spine, sending a tremble through her. Her chin quivered. “I’m all right. Really,” she said. Through sheer will her words came out steady, while the frantic beat of her heart did its best to counteract her efforts. “Just a little post—”
Arran’s mouth consumed hers. The night faded, the sound of the traffic, and every other person in the world, disappeared. She moaned and opened for him, couldn’t wait to taste him again. He was a flavor she’d never get enough of. Hot cinnamon and the essence of raw male desire flooded her mouth. She arched into him, needing the feel of his hard body next to hers, while their tongues mimicked the images that flickered in her mind. The secret fantasies she craved to fulfill with him…if only…
Pulling away, she gasped. “I have to go.” She slid free of his hold and rounded the motorcycle. This wasn’t fair. She couldn’t do this to him. He deserved a woman who was whole. A woman who could give him what he needed. She loved him. God yes, she’d loved him for years. Would always love him. But she would never be able to make love to him. Not with her head still so screwed up. She choked back the sob that begged to break free.
At that moment, she knew what she had to do: find some way to heal—and soon—or love him enough to push him away.
Halfway to the door, she stopped. The urge to look back was too powerful to refuse. She set her teeth together and clamped down on her molars as if they’d give her the strength to do what was right. To keep her feet planted where they needed to stay: several feet away from him. She swiveled her head in his direction. Arran sat on his bike, facing her with his black helmet settled on the fuel tank between his thighs. Of course. He wouldn’t have pulled away until she was safely inside. “Tomorrow night,” she called out. “Come back for me.”
“You can count on it.” He didn’t hesitate in his reply. For a few long seconds, she couldn’t move, couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. Her chest tightened, until the urge to breathe was an undeniable force. Air rushed in, along with a sense of desperation.
She’d find a way. She had to.
Chapter Eight
The door to her sister’s townhouse clicked shut, and Arran’s motorcycle roared to life. Elle pressed her forehead to the door and listened to the rumble of the engine. The sound faded quickly as he pulled away, taking a piece of her with him. The dark and empty foyer was a perfect metaphor to what it felt like inside her heart. Two nights, that’s all it had been. Two nights with him, and she was back to where she’d been when he’d left two years ago: unable to imagine her life without him in it.
“Well, that was a touching sight.”
The sound of the deep, brogue-laced voice set her heart pounding. She whirled around. “Logan. What the hell are you doing here?” Not now. She needed more time.
His tall, broad form eased from the shadows of the den, and she flipped on the light switch by the door. He might have perfect night vision, but she couldn’t see worth jack shit in the dark. The single hanging coach lamp came to life, illuminating the foyer. Dressed in faded jeans with holes over his knees, military boots, and a solid black T-shirt, he was an impressive sight as he stepped onto the wood floor of the foyer. Held by a strap at his nape, Logan’s long golden brown hair brushed his waist with the swagger of his stride. Any woman would be drooling right about now with the knowledge that this man had been waiting on her. Wanting her. She’d tried, but her heart did not do that flip-flop thing when he walked in the room. Arran had laid claim to that part of her a long time ago, and it had never beat for another since.
“I tried to call several times tonight, but you never answered. Fairfield’s only a little over two hours away, at least the way I drive, so I thought I’d pop in for a visit—surprise you—and make sure you were okay.”
Elle made her way to the table by the stairs and dropped her purse and keys onto the surface. She spotted her cell phone still sitting in the glass bowl where she’d left it earlier in the evening.
“Looks like I’m the one who got surprised,” Logan breathed at her ear and placed a kiss on her neck. She jumped from the unexpected contact and spun. Her stomach twisted into one big knot of guilt. Why did someone have to get hurt?
“How did you get in here?” She moved out from under him and toward the den. After turning on the lamp near the sofa, she plopped onto one of the cushions. Logan wasn’t far behind. He came in, sat in the chair across from her, eating up half the space between them. “Well?”
“I was waiting for you outside in the shadows when you pulled up. When you opened the door, I slipped in before you closed it.” Logan leaned forward. “Damn, Elle! Of all the vampires in the world, you show up on the back of Arran MacLain’s bike.” His face twisted into a look of disgust. “Christ! I can smell him all over you.”
She jumped to her feet and crossed the two feet separating them. “You bastard! You have no right to talk about him like he’s a piece of garbage. What is it between you two? You act like being with him is like swimming in the sewer.”
He pushed up from his chair and grabbed her arms. His upper lip curled, showing a hint of the fangs looming behind. “That is exactly what you’re doing when you’re with him.” Reaching up, he nudged her head from side to side.
“What are you doing?” She jerked out of his hold.
“Has he touched you?” His voice sounded like he was on the edge of a cliff. And if her answer was yes, he might jump.
“That’s none of your damn business.” She headed for the foyer. Her heart felt like it was trying to punch a hole in her chest. She knew they didn’t like each other. But this…he acted like she’d been with a monster tonight. “You need to leave.” She whipped around in front of the door, facing him. “Now!”
“Elle… Please, I care so much about you. You know that.” With his palms open at his sides, he eased closer. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just… You don’t understand.”
“Then educate me.” Threading her fingers through her hair, she paced the room. She was so tired. At the staircase, she lowered herself onto the bottom step and pulled her heels in close. She looked up and slowly shook her head. “Tell me, Logan, why do you hate Arran so much?”
Slowly, he climbed onto the stairs, picking the step above hers for a seat. His knee pressed against her left shoulder, but he kept the rest of himself at a distance. She was grateful. He’d done more than enough by coming here, uninvited, and making claims about Arran. She didn’t need any warm and fuzzy, touchy-feely from him right now. All she wanted were the facts.
“I met Arran for the first time more than a century ago in Virginia.” Logan’s voice was soft, but its deep timbre rumbled in the stairwell. She was almost afraid to breathe too loudly for fear that he would stop and not finish the story. She’d waited so long for him to open up, and she couldn’t believe she was finally going to know the truth. “He’d crossed into our territory and had immediately pushed all the wrong buttons with the members of our colony. Our master, Derek, was impressed with his fighting skills, seeing as how he’d killed two of our best males in a battle for dominance. Derek offered him a position as his personal bodyguard. But it quickly turned to more. Arran didn’t care who he killed, and our master loved that fact—loved power—and if ordered, Arran would eliminate anyone, at any time. Derek had his perfect killing machine. There were only two things that seemed to matter to Arran: death and sex. You didn’t go near him, unless you wanted one or the other.”
Elle clamped a hand over her mouth. She wanted to scream out in denial, but if she were honest with herself, she had known Arran’s past wasn’t pretty. Why else had he pulled away every time she got close? Logan’s thigh bumped her arm as he repositioned, and the sound of a long, deep breath released behind her. Please, God, don’t let him ask me any questions. She just needed to hear it all. Before she lost h
er nerve and told him to shut up and leave.
“Yeah, the asshole didn’t care who he screwed.” The swallow going down sounded forced, as if someone had a stranglehold on his throat. “I walked in on him one night with the female I’d had thoughts of taking as my mate.” He chuckled, but the effect sent a shiver up her spine. “You know what the bastard had to say to me when I walked in on them?” All she could do was shake her head. She couldn’t have found the air to voice an answer if she’d tried. “And I do mean them,” he went on to say. “I opened the door and there she was…in the middle of a three-way with Arran and another male. Arran rolled his head back on his shoulders and then shouted for me to join them. The son of a bitch!” He shot up and barreled away from her. With both hands curled into fists, he paced the confines of the foyer.
“I wanted to kill him.”
“I had no idea.” She reached out for one of the spindles within the stair’s railing and pulled herself up, too afraid to make the transition under her own strength with the tremors skating along her thighs.
“I went at him with everything I had. After what had to have been only a few minutes, he got in a lucky punch, and his dagger ended up at my throat. I still don’t know why he didn’t follow through that night.” He scrubbed his face with both hands and then whirled on her. “Do you see now why I don’t want you with this prick?”
“He hurt you. I get that.” She stepped off the stair and eased in Logan’s direction. Once she was close enough, she brushed her palm along his arm. “But that was more than a century ago. For five out of the last seven years, you’ve worked with him, lived with him. We all did, and I never saw the man you’ve described.”
With a grunt, he cupped her face with his palms. “It’s not just my wounded pride here.” He shook his head. The depths of his emerald green irises glowed with a raging fire. A few strands of his long brown hair had come free and brushed along the stubble at his chin. He looked like he’d stepped right off the cover of one of her Highlander romance novels: the powerful laird ready for war. All he needed was the kilt and a long broadsword. “He killed the master of our colony, Elle.”