Eternal Hunger rb-1

by Laura Wright

  Nicholas shrugged. “Not sure. But he is with Dare and”—he ventured a worried glance at Alexander, then returned to Sara—“he’s no longer fully human.”

  Sara’s eyes shifted to Alexander. “Talk to me.”

  “There is vampire blood in him,” Alexander said softly. “And there is vengeance. We scented it. Which means you are in far more danger than I thought. Either Dillon or myself will be with you 24-7.”

  Sara was too shocked to immediately protest, but she knew there would be a discussion later. She wasn’t about to be controlled by Alexander or by the psychotic actions of her ex-patient.

  “Oh, shit,” Nicholas muttered, nodding at Alexander’s shoulder. “It’s bleeding out again.”

  Following his line of vision, Sara gasped. “Oh my God!” The towel that Evans now held to Alexander’s wound looked like an overturned can of red paint, fingers of blood spreading in every direction.

  Alexander glanced down, yanked off the towel. “More towels, Evans.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.” The old servant was off like a shot.

  Sara stared at the bullet wound carved into Alexander’s powerfully muscled shoulder, and the blood, a good deal of it leaking from the hole. She’d seen plenty of blood in her time, worked on the brains of cadavers in med school, and yet seeing Alexander with a hole in his body made her sway on her feet.

  “Hey there,” Alexander said to her gently, “don’t go soft now.”

  “It looks bad.”

  “It’s nothing. Human inflicted. The bullet’s already been removed and the wound will fade in a few hours.”

  “No. It will fade now,” said the resolute feminine voice behind Sara. There was a whisper of fabric and Bronwyn moved past her to Alexander’s side.

  “Stop!” Sara blurted out, following the veana, grabbing her by the wrist. “Don’t touch him.” She couldn’t help herself, the strange urge to protect him guiding her actions.

  “Easy, Doctor,” Nicholas said, coming to stand between her and Bronwyn, forcing Sara to release the veana’s wrist. “It’s a Pureblood veana’s pleasure and her gift to heal a paven or veana if she can.”

  Bullshit, Sara thought. Not if the paven was her paven. Sara looked at Alexander, waited for him to respond, to tell Bronwyn to back the hell off. But he didn’t. He nodded.

  Ready to spring, ready to punch the wall, Sara watched the beautiful vampire female inhale deeply through her nose, then part her perfect lips and blow on the ravaged and bloody skin of Alexander’s shoulder. Shivering, Alexander closed his eyes and let his head drop back. Bronwyn repeated the act several times until Alexander released a sigh of satisfaction, and before Sara’s eyes, the hole in his skin began to close.

  The jealousy, the hatred that rushed through Sara in that moment, reminded her of the early days of junior high and a boy she’d loved who had only noticed her when she was with her incredibly hot best friend, Penny Mathews, or when he needed help on his biology homework. Watching Bronwyn heal Alexander, Sara felt odd, competitive, unsure if she could stop herself from ripping the veana’s arm off if given the chance.

  When the hole was completely closed, Bronwyn stepped back and Alexander opened his eyes and looked up at her, nodded. “Thank you.”

  She smiled, an irresistible smile. “Anytime.”

  Jaw clenched, Sara glanced over at Dillon. The vampire was watching her, a curious expression on her face. Sara wanted to shake her, yell at her, You’re a veana too! Why the hell couldn’t you be the one to fix him?

  But this wasn’t about Dillon. This was about Sara and all that she lacked and being no match for something with fangs. So, trying not to appear as though her tail hovered between her legs, she lifted her chin and announced to the room, “It’s sleep time for the human. Night, everybody.” Calmly, coolly, and without looking at either Bronwyn or Alexander, she walked out of the room.

  22

  Alexander stood outside Sara’s bedroom door—the bedroom she’d moved all of her things into sometime after leaving the living room an hour ago.

  The bedroom that was an entire floor away from his.

  Pressing his head against the wood, he flared his nostrils and inhaled, splitting her scent into physical and emotional fragments. His mouth pulled into a frown. She was still awake, yes, but she was pissed off, distracted, turned on, jealous, and . . . very worried.

  He lifted his hand to the wood and knocked, the heady anticipation of seeing her running wild through his veins. Christ. Why was he so taken with this woman, so driven to protect her and see her happy? What did he even know about her besides the story of that horrific accident that would’ve broken anyone else but had only made her stronger, more determined, living to heal the brother she loved before she even thought about healing herself? What did he know about her besides the fact that she was the kind of human who had helped drag a vampire animal inside her home and out of the sun when she could’ve easily kicked him aside?

  Perhaps that was knowing enough.

  He heard her footfalls coming toward him, scented her unease, and when she finally opened the door, he was prepared to give her the food he’d brought, ask if she needed anything else, and leave her to sleep. But then he saw her: barefoot, her dark hair, thick and soft, falling around her beautiful face, and wearing a white silk bathrobe that caressed her luscious frame as his own hands would if given the chance. She looked like a goddamn angel, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his head between her breasts and feel her wings close around him.

  “It’s late.” She stood in the doorway, her blueberry eyes weary as she barred him entrance.

  He stared at her, his covetous gaze unwavering. “Why aren’t you in bed, then?”

  “Who says I wasn’t?” she returned softly.

  “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

  “A little.”

  His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s probably because you moved out of my room.”

  Her eyes flashed with sudden heat. “I never moved into your room.”

  He shrugged. “Technicality.”

  She paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping over him, resting on the large brown bag in his hand. “What do you have there?”

  “Dinner.” He raised his brows suggestively. “Best Chinese in the city.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I heard about your eating habits, the lack of solid food.”

  “Dillon talks too damn much,” he grumbled.

  “It wasn’t Dillon,” she told him, her eyes revealing the sadness and frustration she wouldn’t say aloud.

  Alexander leaned against the doorjamb, hovering just inches from her, and inhaled deeply. “Let me in, Sara.”

  Sara stared at him, her insides melting, not at the words he’d uttered, but at the reverent, vulnerable, teasingly pained way he’d uttered them. Perhaps both of them wished they could just walk away from the imaginary string that connected them, that demanded they remain close and pretend they were unaffected by each other, but that seemed an impossibility. Sara pushed away from the door and allowed him to enter. It seemed that no matter who was in the house, or what they claimed to be, she would still open her door and her heart to Alexander—just as she knew that he would not stop caring for her, protecting her or pursuing her.

  She watched him as he crossed the room, carrying a small table under one arm as though it weighed less than a feather. He was so beautiful. The way he moved, those long, terrifying yet graceful strides, made the muscles around her heart contract.

  “What’s all this?” she asked as he placed the table by the window, pulled two chairs to meet it, then began drawing out linens and silverware and a wineglass from the larger bag he had slung over his shoulder.

  “You didn’t think I’d have you dining on the floor, did you?”

  Her gaze moved with him, reveled in the peculiar sight of him—this branded, skull-shaved, six-foot-three linebacker of a vampire—fluffing out
a snow-white tablecloth and waiting patiently for it to land on the glass tabletop. “Not the floor, but the bed would’ve been fine. I’m all good with the room service.”

  He turned and flashed a predatory half smile. “Eating in bed shouldn’t involve food, woman.”

  A searing wave of desire moved through Sara and her gaze ran the length of him, from black boots to black thermal, every inch of him blazing hard lines and thick muscle. It was juvenile, but she hated that another female had even gotten close to him tonight, much less healed him, and she knew that when this thing between them finally went south her feelings of possessiveness were going to cost her big-time. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Fine.” He continued to set the table.

  “I’m kind of surprised Dillon didn’t rush in to help you—being your friend and all.”

  “Dillon enjoys seeing me in pain.”

  Sara had a feeling Dillon liked to see everyone in pain—physically and emotionally. “Well, it was a good thing Bronwyn was there.”

  “Yes, she was very helpful.”

  Sara frowned, and a muscle twitched near Alexander’s mouth as he placed a red cloth napkin across her stark white plate. “Your jealousy has a scent, you know.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He glanced up at her. “It’s exquisitely strong.”

  “Is it now?” she tossed back. “Does it smell like kung pao chicken?”

  He laughed—a deep, rich sound that played about Sara’s skin like a lover’s kiss.

  “Listen,” she said with a frustrated sigh, walking over to the window. He was so near she could scent the warm blood spice of his skin. How, she wasn’t exactly sure, but her mouth ached, watered . . . “I’m not going to be that girl.”

  “What girl is that?” he interrupted casually, following her every movement with his dark cherry gaze.

  “Going after some other woman’s man. Acting like a jealous asshole. That’s not my style.”

  Again, his mouth twitched with humor. “What is your style, Sara?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know; for starters, maybe going after someone who’s unattached ...”

  He nodded. “Very wise.”

  “. . . someone with a good soul, a good heart.”

  “Well,” he said, reaching for her hand, drawing her to him. “That won’t do, as I believe I have neither.”

  A flush of heat moved up Sara’s neck, sent her pulse racing as he pulled her closer, crushing her against his hard chest. His touch was electric; every time, a shock of sweet electricity went straight to her nerve endings and all she wanted to do was yank off her robe and feel his hands on her skin. But she attempted to remain sane. “My point is,” she uttered, gazing up at him, at his striking, fearsome face, “the whole true-mate thing—it seems inborn and unbreakable, and deeply a part of your culture. And, well”—she lifted one yielding brow—“she’s lovely.”

  Alexander cupped her chin and forced her eyes to his. “Listen to me, Sara, for this is truth. Bronwyn is not for me.”

  Between her legs, a muscle long forgotten began to tremble, to clench. “She thinks she—”

  “No.” His eyes were like two garnets, blazing with heat.

  She shook her head. “It’s really none of my business.”

  “Sara.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip and she felt his cock stir hard and thick against her belly. “Please”—his voice was low and pained—“before I press you back against this window and take the meal that I desire . . . sit now. Eat.”

  His words, a delicious threat, made Sara’s heart pound, and for a moment she didn’t move. She was starving, yes, but not for the food on the table. She wanted to remain where she was, protected and safe, the hard muscled planes of his chest pressed against her breasts and the strange and delicious, spicy blood scent of him filling her nostrils.

  And she wanted him to take from her, whatever it was that would satiate his hunger . . .

  “Come,” he uttered, husky and slow as he broke their connection and led her over to the table, releasing her into a chair. He took the one opposite and began opening containers of food and piling her plate three inches thick as though she were a lumberjack who hadn’t eaten in days.

  Sara watched him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers and give her some clue as to how he was feeling. Was it the same as she was? Nervous and vulnerable, yet desperate to know how his naked skin would feel against hers.

  But though his jaw pulsed and clenched, he remained focused on the task of getting her fed. He poured some wine, then grabbed a pair of chopsticks and ripped off the paper with a little too much force. His thick knuckles were white as his hands gripped the wooden chopsticks just as they’d gripped her waist only moments before, and with one crack, a lone chopstick jumped from his grasp and went flying across the room, hitting the wall with a dull click.

  “Fucking human utensils ...” Alexander muttered before pitching the other wooden stick after it.

  Sara bit her lip, trying to hold back laughter. “Uh, Alexander?”

  He cursed again, his eyes narrowed on the wall. “What?”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just use a fork.”

  His gaze lifted then and she saw the beginnings of mirth in his eyes. She couldn’t help herself, she laughed, and in moments the ire in his expression died and he joined her, chuckling low and easy.

  Fork in hand, Sara dug into the mound of food. After the first bite, she nodded enthusiastically. “This is good, very good. Spicy.”

  “You like heat on your tongue, do you?”

  “It can be intense sometimes,” she returned playfully, “but yes, I do. What about you? Like your blood spicy?”

  His gaze moved over her face, then dropped to her neck. “I think I would enjoy it very much.”

  Sara’s body responded instantly, heat and pressure building between her thighs. She crossed her legs, but that only made the sensation worse. She wondered what the night would bring if she could barely contain her desire through dinner. She forced a bit of chicken down her dry throat, then said, “Bronwyn said that your kind doesn’t crave human blood.”

  Alexander sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his splendid chest. “Our kind craves every kind of blood.”

  Sara frowned. “Then why would she say ...”

  “In the credenti, the Eternal Breed is expected to resist what is not pure.”

  “And human blood is—”

  “Unclean, impure, powerless.”

  “Wow. I suddenly feel the need to shower.”

  Alexander laughed, an enchanting rumble of thunder that moved seductively down her neck and back. She shivered.

  “What about you?” she asked, watching his expression carefully. “Do you think human blood is . . . dirty?”

  “No, but then again, I like all things dirty.”

  She laughed softly. “Have you ever had human blood?”

  “I left the credenti a hundred years ago. To survive, I took food wherever and whenever I could get it.”

  “What about now?”

  “I believe I am more discriminating now.”

  “So does that mean you haven’t drunk blood from a human lately?”

  He arched one dark eyebrow. “What’s lately?”

  She rolled her eyes, said impatiently, “Alexander.”

  Grinning, he nodded toward her plate. “So that kung pao’s pretty good, eh?”

  She cocked her head, playing along. “Best I’ve ever had. Sure you don’t want a bite?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “What surface I get to eat it off of.”

  Cheeky bastard. She eyed him. “Would you take blood from me? If I offered it?”

  His eyes darkened, the brands on his cheeks too. “No.”

  Her heart seized with his vehement tone. “Why not?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not a good idea.”

  “Because of my unclean blood?”

 
; “No. Hell, no. I don’t believe in any of that horse-shit.”

  “Then why? Are you afraid it would turn me?”

  He gave no answer, but his gaze dropped to her neck.

  Her meal completely forgotten, Sara pressed him for answers she wasn’t sure she desperately needed to have. “Would you be afraid to turn me into what you are?”

  He shook his head. “Not possible.”

  “But you said Tom was—”

  He cut her off. “That’s different. He’s not a vampire. A human can never become a vampire. Vampires are born, not made. However, if a human drinks the blood of a vampire they can change into an Imiti.”

  “What’s that?” Sara asked.

  “Something that resembles a vampire—something that has lost all of its humanity—something corrupt. Not something to be loved.”

  A slow, unsettling reality came over Sara in that moment. The desire, the need, the pull—it was all there between them, unstoppable and undeniable. And yet it meant nothing more than an acknowledged understanding. Desire, yes. Love and a future together, no. She put down her fork. “So this . . . you and me ...”

  His gaze held hers. “Impossible.”

  Her appetite died right there and her body went cold and numb. The impossibility of her and him was barely a shock and yet she felt bereft at hearing him concede to it. Angry as well. She’d let herself think there might be a way, a place for them to exist, to know each other better between two worlds. She pushed away from the table, stood and went over to the door.

  Alexander watched her. “What are you doing?”

  “Kicking you out.”

  His eyes softened. “Sara ...”

  She shook her head, hand on the doorknob. “No, there’s not going to be any of that. I heard what you said, and I know what you meant by it, so let’s just call it a day. I have enough impossibilities in my life right now. I don’t need another one.”

  “Sara, come back to the table.”

  “I won’t deny my attraction to you, Alexander. You know it. I know it. And sitting around here flirting and one-upping each other with witty sexual innuendo is fun and all, but it’s going to become real painful real soon.”