“What do you remember?” Hunter asked as he righted the chair, but set it a cautious distance from the bed. He approached the bed, eyeing her warily, and slowly reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, offering it to her.
She took it from him, gulping it down.
“Easy,” he told her. “Just—take it slow.”
She eyed him over the glass, wanting to drain it all in one gulp, just because she didn’t want to do as he said. Reluctantly, though, her stomach was already telling her to be gentle, its roiling and small wave of nausea a warning of what could happen if she didn’t. She sipped the water, then held the glass to her chest as she stared at him.
Foggy visions, of him banging on a window and glaring at her. She frowned. “It’s a little hazy,” she admitted, worry creasing her brow. She normally had near perfect recall.
“That’s probably due to the loss of blood,” he murmured, subsiding in the seat.
She took a deep breath, focusing on the end of her bed. “I remember saying goodbye to Lexi... I remember your thumping on a window.” She glanced at her bedroom window. Despite the sun, snow still clung to the sill, and icicles hung from the roofline.
White snow. Bitter cold. Crimson blood. Lycans. Fangs.
Her gaze flicked to Hunter. “I was attacked, wasn’t I?” she said hoarsely. The memories were starting to stir in her mind, of being stalked, of being bitten. Two werewolves. It had been a while since the last attempt on her life. She’d grown complacent. The fuzzy visions were coming into focus, at first jumbled, then slowly becoming a part of a logical timeline. Supplying spells and potions to arm humans against shadow breeds meant attacks were a hazard of the job. She should have been more alert though, especially after what had happened with Lance—although his being a dhampir meant he was even more prone to attacks than she was.
Hunter nodded, and for the first time she noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the lines bracketing his mouth. He looked tired. She turned her arm over again. The memory of the werewolf sinking its teeth into her flesh warred with the vision of healthy, pink skin.
“You...?”
He nodded.
He’d rescued her. She tightened her grip on the sheet at her chest, not quite sure what to do next.
He’d saved her. She didn’t know quite what to say, how to react. Gratitude felt so weird after all this time hating him, being so angry with him. After everything he’d done to her, and after all those things she’d done to him...
He rose from the chair, his hands sliding into the back pockets of his jeans. He looked about as comfortable as she felt, lying in a bed with only a sheet as protection. Sure, it provided adequate cover, but she still felt so damn exposed.
Vulnerable. That was it. She felt vulnerable. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable. Not at all. Blast it.
He gestured awkwardly to the door as he stepped around her bed. “I’ll, uh, go check on Lance. You need to rest. You lost a lot of blood.”
She nodded, then her eyes widened. “Oh, God, my store—” Panic set in as she realized the sun was high in the sky.
“It’s Sunday,” Hunter reminded her gently, and she subsided against her pillows. Her store was closed on Sundays.
Silence stretched between them for a moment, then Hunter scratched his head.
“I, uh, I need to sit in front of the fireplace. Recharge,” he said, backing away.
She remembered another way he could recharge, and her cheeks warmed. His lips against hers. His chest against hers. Their bodies, naked and entwined. She was nude under the sheet, after all. The warmth of her cheeks bloomed to a scorching heat. The thought should have horrified her, but she noticed her natural resistance to getting anywhere close to this guy had drained out of her. The idea that she would willingly be a source of energy for the man, a source of that kind of energy... She suddenly knew what those vamp slaves must experience, the eagerness to sacrifice personal safety for extreme pleasure, even if it did come at a high cost... Hunter’s eyes flared, as though following her train of thought, and he bumped back into her bedroom door. “So, uh, I’ll go. Now.”
He opened the door, his heated gaze resting on her lips, her bare shoulders...the sheet she clutched to her chest.
“Why?” she whispered, battling her confusion. His eyes met hers. She wasn’t asking him why he was leaving, and he knew it.
His gaze flickered away for a moment, and shadows darkened his eyes. He shrugged.
“You needed me.” He shut the door, effectively ending further conversation.
She stared, nonplussed, at the white timber.
* * *
Hunter tilted his head back against the door.
You needed me.
Ugh. It sounded so corny, so...banal. He’d rescued her because she’d needed him. His brother would be laughing until he cried if he’d heard that one.
Hunter tried to focus on the last five months, on huddling in a dark brick-and-stone cell, on being chained to a wall by cuffs that singed his skin with every movement. On dirty, ripped clothing. On being chilled and tired and uncomfortable. On never having a full belly or a truly restful sleep. On those spiders she’d poured in through the peephole. Not literally, of course, but he hadn’t realized it was an illusion spell. It had felt damn real at the time.
Oh, and the snakes. Let’s not forget the snakes.
She’d held him in the dark, intentionally withholding light from him.
And in her last conscious moments, she’d delivered on her promise to him. He dragged a hand over his face.
He was a sad and sorry sap, that one promise could affect him so damn much. He’d tended to her wounds, stripping her, cleaning her, healing her... He’d even ignored her attributes, so to speak, in his focus to heal her. She’d been naked, and he’d been completely professional.
Mostly.
Because she needed him.
He levered himself away from the door and made his way to his other patient. He would check Lance’s wounds, ensure he would still remain under the blanket of unconsciousness for the foreseeable future, and then he intended to open all the curtains in Melissa’s living room, start the fire and sit there for the rest of the day. He would try not to think about the bravery Melissa had shown in her first meeting with Lance, her kindness—reluctant though it was—in offering an ex-con a job, and her loyalty to the vow she’d made to him, or the fact that she was down the hall, naked.
No, he would not think of that. He would sit in front of the fire, nurse that bottle of bourbon and get pleasantly drunk.
* * *
Melissa padded down the hallway, her blush pink silk nightgown flowing behind her. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. Wow, whatever shampoo she was using was working. Her red locks were artfully curled and all glossy and shiny, cascading over her shoulders. She couldn’t quite understand why her hair was perfectly styled so early in the morning, but didn’t question it. She entered the kitchen and halted, her eyes rounding.
Hunter stood at the stove, frying bacon. He looked over at her and his lips curled in a sexy grin.
“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured.
She swallowed.
He was wearing an apron. Just an apron.
The muscles of his arms, shoulders and chest bulged, and she could see the dusky disks of his nipples peeking out on either side of her I kiss better than I cook apron—which looked like it was made for a kid when he wore it, revealing more than it concealed.
His broad shoulders tapered down behind the fabric—which ended mid–muscled thigh. His legs were toned, just like the rest of him. She didn’t know why she was surprised.
“What—what are you doing?” she breathed. She should be stunned, should be shocked. Instead, she was...interested. Bacon sizzled, and the smell was so damn good, mingling with her
favorite scent of well-made coffee.
“Making breakfast,” Hunter responded with a wink, then turned back to flip the eggs in the frying pan. “Got to keep your strength up.”
Her eyes widened as she saw his muscled back and perfectly shaped butt. Oh, dear heaven. That butt. It was—she lifted her chin, trying to tear her gaze away from his butt—it was gorgeous. Sexy...and her eyes were still glued to his butt.
The kind of butt that made you want to reach out and squeeze it.
“Oh, wait, I have something for you,” he said, lifting the pan off the burner and flicking the gas off. Her mind immediately suggested all sorts of wicked somethings he could offer. He reached across the counter and poured—oh, sweet mercy—percolated coffee into a mug for her, and spun with an athletic grace to present it to her, his movements graceful and strong, his lips tilted in a half smile that was all knowing and wicked.
“For me?” she breathed, accepting the mug, the enticing smell of coffee and bacon entwining with his own personal scent of amber and musk. It was heady, and she took a sip, her eyes never leaving his.
“Uh-huh.” Hunter’s brown eyes flared with the beginnings of those mesmerizing amber flares, and his expression relaxed into a sensual invitation as he watched her drink.
“I’d like to taste some of that,” he murmured, and his gaze dropped to her lips as she lowered the mug to the counter next to her.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, what’s stopping you?” she whispered, her lips lifting in a smile meant to dare. She couldn’t believe she was being so flirty, so relaxed and encouraging.
“Nothing,” he breathed as he lowered his head.
Chapter 11
His lips took hers in a searing kiss, his hand delving into her curls, grasping her head and angling it to his liking. His other arm curled around her back and pulled her closer.
Melissa moaned as her body came into contact with his. Over and over, his tongue slid against hers, and her hands slid up those glorious biceps to twine around his neck.
He leaned forward, his hands lowering to clasp her buttocks, and she moaned into his mouth as he pulled her up against him, his groin against hers. She wrapped her legs around his waist, twisting her head to meet his lips, over and over, as he turned and walked them over to the kitchen table.
He swept his arm across the surface, sending plates and cutlery crashing to the floor, then sat her on the edge of the table.
Melissa gasped as his lips left hers to trail a hot, wet caress down her neck. She clasped his head, her fingers delving into his short hair, and he growled softly at the sensual head massage. He tugged her forward, her hips against his, and kissed his way down her neck to her chest as he bore her back down to the table.
She trembled as he flexed his hips against hers. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs, and her heart thudded as he licked and nipped his way across her collarbone. Her breasts swelled and heat bloomed. Everywhere.
She gulped. Who knew that was such a sensitive zone? Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared sightlessly up at the ceiling as he dragged the spaghetti strap of her nightie off her shoulder and down her arm.
She wriggled her arm, arching her back as he slid the silken fabric down her body, revealing her breasts.
He levered back for a moment, eyeing the bounty he’d just revealed, and those amber flecks in his eyes turned to molten gold.
“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, an expression of hot appreciation and something softer, bordering on sincere. She raised her arms to caress his shoulders.
“So are you,” she told him, her fingers lightly trailing down to his pectoral muscles, where she gently flicked his nipples. He shuddered, dipping down to take her lips again in an intense kiss before shifting to kiss her chest, brushing his lips over the tops of her breasts as his hands cupped them, lifting them. He swept his thumbs over the peaks of her nipples, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth as her nipples tightened.
He rubbed himself against her, his hips moving with the grace and rhythm of a dancer. But a built dancer, like a stripper, not the ballet kind, she found herself thinking, and then her thoughts scattered. He lowered his lips to one nipple, and she closed her eyes on a breathy moan as he drew it into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue. His erection rubbed against her, finding that place that needed his attention.
She flexed her hips against his, her head tilting back as he suckled at her breast. She clasped his head to her, not wanting him to move, it felt so good. But move he did, and darn if he didn’t make it feel even better.
He released her nipple with a soft pop, switching his attention to her other breast, his hands sliding down her body to pull up the hem of her nightie.
Her nails scoring down his back in a slow glide, she pulled him closer, hands covering that beautiful butt.
He groaned. “I have to be inside you,” he whispered.
She nodded. “Yes. Now.” She couldn’t agree more. She dragged up the apron, and he positioned himself. She could feel him, ready at that spot that wept for him, needed him, and she gazed up at him as he—
Pounding on the door jerked Melissa awake, and she rolled onto her back, scooting up to the headboard, the sheet wrapped around her.
Eyes wide, her chest rising and falling with her agitated pants, she glanced wildly around the room.
“Melissa,” Hunter roared from the other side of her bedroom door. “Wake the hell up.”
* * *
The bedroom door was finally flung open, and an angry Melissa emerged, shrugging a plaid shirt over a white T-shirt. She wore jeans and was still jamming one foot into its sneaker, and her expression promised punishment.
His body hummed with desire, a painful arousal and a rage born from shock. “What the hell do you think you’re—?”
“You bastard,” she hissed, her eyes spitting green fire. “I told you to stay the hell out of my head.”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “I did,” he exclaimed hotly.
“I bet you’re all recharged now, aren’t you?” she said, her tone accusing.
“Thanks to you,” he gritted. She was right. He was. And he was so damn hyped up he could throw a barbecue for the damn city.
Her fingers curled, and she raised them in a way he knew from experience meant pain would follow. He held up his own hands, and flames flickered from the tips of his fingers. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, frowning fiercely. He was so damn angry with her, although why the hell she was acting as though he was the bad guy, he had no idea.
“I told you to stay out of my head,” she hissed at him, fingers curled like claws. He could feel the pain starting in his head, as though her nails were slowly sliding into his brain. “Do you think this is a game? Do you think you can come in and twist my mind to your own devices?” Her voice was climbing in volume.
He blinked, confused on so many levels, and trying to think past the mental burn. “You think I did this?” He flicked his finger and a little flame zinged off and around behind her. She squealed, flinching at the hot sting that bit at her butt. It was only brief, and only a warning, but it was enough to distract her, and to eject those talons of pain out of his head. “You think that was me?” He didn’t bother to hide his disbelief. “You were in my head, Melissa. I don’t know how the hell you did it, but I don’t like it and it stops now.”
Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him, ready to inflict more pain, but his words halted her. “What?” she asked, angling her head, her fingers still poised, eyes full of suspicion and confusion.
She didn’t know. Good God, she didn’t know. The anger still coursed through him, the shock and frustration, but she was so eager to accuse him, to deliver pain as punishment for something she thought he’d done. She had no idea.
He extinguished his fire, his hands dropping to his sides as he stared at her, incredulous. “I was sleeping,” he told her, his voice low and rough. “And you walked into my head.”
Now it was Melissa’s turn to be confused. “What?”
Her fingers relaxed, but he wasn’t sure if it was intentional, or if she was thoroughly distracted. He knew he was sure as hell distracted.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, and he could see she was struggling with the concept. Join the club. He was totally stumped. “I was sleeping, and all of a sudden you were prancing through my dream.”
He held up a finger. “One—I do not prance.” He raised another finger. “Two—that wasn’t your dream, that was mine.”
She stared at him for a moment, blinking, and then she lowered her hands. “Wait, so...you were dreaming about...me?”
He frowned. “Yes, damn it.” He looked away. Talk about damned awkward.
She rubbed her chin. “I don’t understand how this works,” she admitted, a little embarrassed. Of course, her little embarrassment paled in comparison to his abject mortification. He took a deep breath. Now that he could see she truly hadn’t intended to dreamwalk in his mind, he’d gone from wanting to strangle her straight back to wanting her. Period.
He wanted the bitchy witch. He dragged his hands over his face. “Oh, this is so wrong.”
“I don’t get it,” she said, arms out in a helpless gesture.
His eyes narrowed. “How can you not get it? You just did it.” She was more skilled than he’d first thought—and he didn’t like underestimating his enemy, damn it.
To his knowledge, only some light warriors had this particular gift. He’d inherited his from his father. He knew vampires could compel others. He knew witches could cast spells and unlock secrets of the mind with incantations and touch, and they could see visions, etc. He’d never heard of another breed being able to do as he could.
It scared the hell out of him. The crapstorm he had going on up there, he didn’t want anyone to see. He didn’t like the exposure, the lack of control.
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