02 Blood Roses - Blackthorn

by Lindsay J. Pryor

  As he slowly slid his finger back out to tease the most sensitive nub of her sex, as he applied perfect and concise pressure, she spoke more breathily than she intended. ‘Your choice,’ she said.

  He almost smiled as he slid his lips down her throat, across her collar bone, withdrew his hand as he kissed down her cleavage, dragged the fabric aside to take her breast in his mouth. She closed her eyes, his saliva, as cool as the air encompassing them, not helping her already obvious arousal.

  As he slid his lips back up her neck to then find her mouth, she accepted him willingly, the increase in his hunger only exacerbating hers as he eased down onto his knees.

  She stared down at the top of his head, clenched the handle of the knife tighter as he encouraged her to part her feet further before pushing her dress up her thighs.

  She rested her head back against the wall, closed her eyes and held her breath as she felt him pull at the ties on her knickers, the coolness of his mouth against her sex.

  She almost lost the circulation in her knife-holding hand, her other fist clenched enough to cut off the blood flow too.

  He lifted her foot onto his thigh, continuing to lick slowly and painfully lingeringly before finally pushing his tongue inside her.

  She lifted a hand to her head to clutch her hair, cursed under her breath, the flexion in his lips telling her he had detected it, her reaction making him smile.

  His pace immediately increased as he held her hip tight, his other hand gripping her thigh as consumed her more hungrily, fuelling her desire for him more.

  She dropped the knife, its clatter echoing in the silence, and gripped the shirt at his shoulder as she found herself edging close towards a too-fast climax.

  But he pulled away, eased back onto his feet.

  As she stared back at him through misty eyes, she could barely breathe, could barely hold herself up had his arm not slipped around her waist.

  As he unfastened his trousers, as he pulled down his shorts, a cold shiver swept through her.

  In those moments she didn’t care about the prophecies – she didn’t care about anything beyond those walls.

  And she hated herself for those thoughts.

  Hated herself in those moments – her addiction to him, how he overruled every conviction, her whole body responding to him in a way she despised. She needed to hate herself for wanting him that much that she no longer cared.

  But she couldn’t deny it. Her body wouldn’t deny it. The fact was she knew he already was burrowed too deep inside her for her ever to get over him.

  And as she felt his erection against her sex, she held his gaze.

  But he didn’t move.

  ‘This, my beautiful serryn, is self-control,’ he declared. ‘Decades of practice refined enough to pull back from even you right now. You nearly made me lose that control once tonight. The only one who ever has. That won’t happen again.’

  He kissed her lightly, fleetingly on the lips before pulling back, breaking from her gaze.

  Without another word, he turned his back on her, refastening his trousers as he crossed the room to the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  They walked back to the club in silence.

  Leila wrapped her arms around herself, but it did nothing to fight off the breeze.

  They got a few stares, but none lingered. Caleb didn’t even seem to notice, though she had no doubt he did. His eyes had been distant since they had left the house, but never had she felt more protected from the dark world they walked through. Silent though he was, his eyes pensive, she knew he was more aware of her than he’d ever been, as she was of him.

  He didn’t hold her hand this time as he led her back to the club. He was forcing himself to distance himself from her, the act revealing more than enough to her.

  He hated her for exposing his weakness. Despised her for shattering the illusion he had constructed so perfectly.

  They strolled through the hidden passages that led back up to the penthouse, to his quarters.

  The library felt cold and empty, the grate now lifeless. She looked out at the darkness beyond the window, the stillness beyond the boundary exacerbating her tension.

  He led the way to his bedroom, his continued silence a lingering and unwelcome companion as Leila stood in the centre of the room, watching him disappear into the en suite.

  Never had a sense of isolation consumed her more. Never had she had a greater desire to be near someone. Even with him only in the next room, she ached to be close to him. She needed that one last attempt. That one last attempt to make him want her enough to delay his plans, just long enough to give her more time to find a way through it.

  But more than anything, she needed to know if she was right – if the hardened shell had splintered. If there was a renewed glimmer of hope that there was something in him she could appeal to.

  Hearing the shower run, she stepped up to the threshold.

  She faced the frosted glass, his naked body muted beyond, his back to her, his hands braced on the tiled wall.

  She slipped off her sandals as she listened to the water beating off his body and onto the shower tray. She closed the door behind her, sealing out the outside world before tentatively stopping at the opening of the walk-in shower.

  She raked his naked body slowly with her gaze, taking in every inch of his lithe, masculine perfection, the shower flowing down onto him like a rainstorm, cleansing every inch of his flawless skin.

  And as she met his gaze, his eyes said it all – a transparent, unspoken invitation.

  She stepped inside but not into the spray, catching the mist of the downpour as he turned to face her. Despite his nakedness, she couldn’t take her eyes from the penetrating green-eyed gaze that blinked away droplets from glossy black lashes.

  He reached out to turn the power of the spray down to a gentle but effective mist, making her skin tingle from the warmth as she stepped into it.

  She tentatively reached out to touch the tattoo on his pec, her fingers tracing over the outline of the coiled tail that stretched up to his neck before sliding across to touch his beautiful lips – lips already bathed in a tempting moistness.

  He instantly drew her thumb into his mouth, sucking on it lightly before sliding his fingers tenderly over the wounds he had left on her neck. He thumbed each in turn before gently holding her jaw, his thumb sliding across her wet lips before he lowered his mouth to hers.

  She met him midway, the draw to him all-consuming, no will or fight to deny what she wanted.

  He parted her lips gently but authoritatively, sliding his tongue gently and exploratorily over hers. She couldn’t help but kiss him back as he tasted and caressed every inch of her mouth, his hand sliding around to clasp the nape of her neck as he delved deeper.

  Leila pressed her hands to his hard upper arms as he guided her around to pin her against the tiled wall, lifting her wrists to place them either side of her head as he kissed deeper still, his erection pushing against her wet dress.

  Arousal flooded her quickly, the need to have him inside her overwhelming her. Gradually everything around them seemed to fade until all she could see was him; beyond the vampire. And she was able to acknowledge the attraction and accept it, the yearning, the craving to have him closer, to have him touch her, hold her, be inside her – the prospect of more gentle sex, more intimate sex, a temptation all to itself. She wanted that part of him. She needed that part of him. She knew if he could bring himself to do that, it was all she needed. Because she knew that the Caleb who used to exist, the Caleb that, in part, still did, was a loyal, devoted and protective Caleb.

  Beyond definition and beyond justification, she had fallen for him.

  As he’d stood there naked, his skin cleansed from the tarnish of Blackthorn, beautiful green eyes as unguarded as she’d ever seen them, the real Caleb had finally come out of that kiss.

  His façade had dropped and he’d shown her what lay beneath. And it wasn’t dark and it wasn’t te
rrifying. There was something warm, responsive, sensitive. There was something that held her like she was the only thing that mattered in those few moments. And it felt more fulfilling than she ever could have conceived.

  And she was falling deep.

  He felt for her too. Every inch of her body and heart told her that Caleb Dehain felt something for her.

  She would undo the Caleb that first serryn had created. That Feinith had moulded and defined. She would undo that Caleb and with it undo all that had done damage to him.

  As he released her wrists to cradle her neck in both his hands, his thumbs on her jaw, she slid her hands down his hard, wet chest, down over his hips before wrapping her hand around his erection, it doing nothing to abate the hunger of his kiss.

  She hoped it was signal enough that she could forgive him. That she understood.

  And that she believed he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

  But as his kiss waned, as he gently pulled away, her heart plummeted.

  As he turned away, she caught his hand, willing him to stay.

  But he didn’t look back at her as his wet hand slipped so easily from hers, making her chest ache with the loss of him.

  He disappeared back out into the bathroom and the bedroom beyond, leaving Leila alone in the mist.

  The realisation hit her hard and fast, causing her gut to clench, and her heart to pound. She clamped her hand over her mouth as she slid down the tiled wall to her haunches.

  He knew.

  She’d lost it – she’d already lost her serrynity, and he knew.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Caleb closed the library door behind him and slammed his clenched fists, knuckles first, against the wall opposite. Keeping his arms braced, he pressed his forehead to the wall and closed his eyes.

  He’d been so close, so unforgivably close to taking her in his arms, wiping the fear from her eyes and reassuring her in a way only that level of intimacy could.

  He needed to remember who he was. He needed to remember where his loyalty lay. He needed to remember what he had to lose against what he had to gain – not only the future of his kind that deserved more, but his own self-respect, his dignity. If he chose her, he wasn’t just turning his back on vengeance for Seth – he was turning his back on all of his kind, which is exactly what she wanted.

  He knew the rules. No one survived in Blackthorn by being soft or by making excuses. No one survived in Blackthorn feeling the way he did right then, because that made him vulnerable. And no one, especially not a serryn, was ever going to make him feel vulnerable again.

  She might have seen a glimpse of how he was – of how he used to be, but Caleb would not allow himself to revert to that.

  He had to keep his mind on all the serryns who had come before her – their bright alluring eyes, their goading sexy smiles; their well-crafted words. The malice. The cruelty. Finding Seth. The agony he was in. And even when he’d clutched Caleb’s neck, pulled him down so he could whisper through the suffering, he’d told Caleb to let it go.

  Just as he’d told him to let go of the pain, the humiliation, the fear that first serryn had inflicted on his seventeen-year-old body. But he couldn’t. Physically the wounds had healed but the scars ran deeper than that. The scars that didn’t heal. The scars of feeling that helpless, that used.

  He clenched his fists tighter.

  Wounds that had reopened when he’d held his dying brother in his arms.

  If there was such a thing as destiny, then it had happened; he had survived for one reason only – to harden him enough to survive at this point.

  Because no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wanted it, he could never trust Leila. Her loyalty to her kind would come first, her loyalty to her family second, and he would be right at the bottom of the pile.

  It was less than forty-eight hours since she’d lay in his dungeon shivering and crying, torn from the heart of everything she knew, those deep, entrancing eyes looking up at him with fear and disdain and confusion – but never hopelessness. Amidst it all, there had always been that glimmer of fight.

  And that would always be there – that survival instinct which thrived in her.

  A survival instinct that was fuelled by the fact she didn’t trust him either. She never would. Not enough. There would always be that doubt. That division. And they could plaster over it for a while, but it would fester and grow and consume them. And a relationship was nothing without trust. Not the relationship he needed. That he craved.

  He’d been right about her dedication to her cause. And her cause was to stop the uprising of vampires. To stop the Tryan. And that’s all her cause would ever be. She would never see beyond her own doctrine, her own instincts.

  They were fated not to work, and he was only torturing them both by prolonging his decision-making. At least this way he could take her privately and with dignity, not with Feinith or the Higher Order lording over them.

  And he had to hold on to that. He’d made his decision and he would stick to it. He couldn’t waste time on hopeless promises of a future he had not earned nor deserved.

  Ten years from then, even five years from then, she’d mean nothing.

  Exhaling tersely, he withdrew from the wall and made his way down to the bar. He grabbed himself a whisky and his packet of cigarettes and headed out onto the terrace. He sat up on the table, feet on the seat as he placed a cigarette between his lips, shielding it as he ignited the tip.

  He stared back across the district. The mild breeze teasing his hair, the familiar sounds and smells of what had been his home for over eighty years spiralling up towards him – a reminder of the reality out there, of his home and his species. A species that had been shoved into the dregs of society by mistrustful humans who felt they had the precedence. A species that had no idea they were teetering on claiming it all back. Claiming what was rightfully theirs.

  All for the sake of him draining the life from some serryn. Because that’s how he had to see her – some serryn. A serryn he had a right to lay claim to.

  This was as much about sacrificing his own dreams as sacrificing Leila.

  And he ended it now.

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  Leila wasn’t sure how long she sat on the shower floor, but her pruned fingers told her the shock had taken a while to abate.

  There was only one time it could have happened – on the bed, after he’d snatched the syringe from her. Something had changed then.

  She clutched her head.

  Or when they’d had sex before he bit her.

  But no – that didn’t make sense. Surely he would have known. But he’d never actually tested her serrynity, only whether he was immune. And that would be true whether she was a serryn or not.

  Sickness rose at the back of her throat. She had to know if he suspected something. She couldn’t sit there doing nothing.

  She pulled herself to her feet and stepped out of the shower. She peeled off her sodden dress, grabbed a towel and stepped through to his bedroom.

  There was no Caleb waiting for her, but there was a cream negligee laid out instead.

  She clenched the cool silk in her hand as she gazed over at the ajar door.

  The irrepressible glimmer of hope still burned inside her – that maybe he’d walked away because he needed to think. Because he needed to contemplate. Because he was wavering.

  She dropped her damp towel to the floor and slipped on the negligee, the silk sliding over her body with ease.

  She could tell him how she felt. If she hadn’t made it obvious enough in the shower, she could look him in the eyes and tell him. It could change everything.

  It could change his mind.

  But she knew she was only fooling herself. Her heart may have been deceitful against her kind, but his was anything but. Even if he did care, Caleb had his eye on the goal. Caleb always had his eye on the goal.

  And if he knew of the secret as much as he seemed to know everything else, and she confessed it,
she was feeding him his victory and handing him her sisters on a platter.

  With leaden legs, she left the bedroom, crossed the library and made her way down to the lounge.

  The balcony doors were open, the emptiness of the lounge telling her exactly where he was.

  She found him sat on the round table, a glass of whisky beside him as he exhaled a steady stream of smoke into the night air. A sign she now knew was the contemplative Caleb, the accessible Caleb. Something she knew she needed to make the most of.

  He broke from the scenery to look across his shoulder at her. He raked her swiftly with his gaze, the hint of a smile that met his eyes and lips telling her he approved of what he saw.

  And something inside her melted.

  ‘It suits you,’ he remarked.

  ‘You chose it.’

  ‘I chose well.’ He broke a fleeting smile, heat flooding through her in response. ‘I like to make sure you have nowhere to hide anything.’

  ‘Always on the defensive.’

  He flicked ash onto the floor, before lifting the cigarette to his lips again. ‘Looking like that, are you surprised?’

  As he looked back ahead, she hovered anxiously at the threshold. He didn’t look like he knew. He didn’t look at her any differently at all.

  She knew she shouldn’t have said anything. Her pride begged her not to. But he had walked away and she needed to know why.

  She wrapped her arms around herself – partly against the breeze, partly to protect herself against the pending emotional exposure because, the way she was feeling then, she wasn’t sure what she was capable of saying. But she had to know if something in Caleb Dehain had changed. He had tried to prove what she was and instead, if what he had said on the bed had been true.

  That was the Caleb she had fallen for. That was the Caleb who could justify her feelings, her desire to give him one last chance.

  To give them both one last chance.

  ‘Why did you walk away?’ she asked.

  The seconds ticked by as he exhaled another stream of smoke. ‘Because you wanted something I wasn’t willing to give.’