The calculating gleam in her eye worried him. Would he get a knee to the groin? An experience that’d be incredibly painful since his shaft was still hard and throbbing for her.
He opened the fridge door, swung it wide. “Let’s see… A rainbow of flavors.” He shot her an amused look. “I’m surprised your blood was actually red. Oh, look. Sausage. Bacon. Pickles. Bone broth. And…” He abandoned the fridge to slide his hand along the counter, naming the foods he passed. “Chips. Saltines. Pretzels.”
When she didn’t say anything, he turned toward her. Color leeched from her features, and she glanced from the fridge to the food and back.
“Zoey,” he kept his voice gentle, “I know vampires are born disgustingly healthy, but I’ve heard rumors of the occasional anomaly. You need this type of food to live, don’t you?”
Her guarded expression didn’t change. “We all need food to survive.”
“Do you just need salt or all the electrolytes?”
“Don’t be stupid. Whoever heard of such a thing.” She lacked conviction.
“Does anyone know? Did Mitchell know?”
Guilt flashed through her features. Finally she sighed and her shoulders sagged. “No. I never told him. He had enough to worry about when he made my quest his.”
Yes, if Mitchell had known, he would’ve yanked her to safety much earlier than he’d been planning. Yet Mitchell was clueless enough to not have noticed? Stryke had known the male’s inner thoughts and he’d never suspected Zoey’s disorder, whatever it was.
Zoey pushed a hand through her drying hair, spreading it across her shoulders like a heavy cloak. The movement spread her top snug over her chest and gave Stryke an amazing eyeful.
“The humans have a condition that results in low sodium levels. It’s called hyponatremia. That’s the closest thing I’ve found to what I suffer from.”
She’d told him. Stryke couldn’t speak for a moment. She’d been smart enough to know she was busted, but he hadn’t expected a real confession.
“What’d you do before Gatorade?”
She shrugged and folded her arms again. “Not much different than what you saw in the fridge. Pickle juice. Homemade bone broth. Growing up, I just noticed I felt better when I had those things.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “Thankfully I was born during the era of mass food preservation and salt was everywhere. Anyway, my parents’ blood was enough until I was an adult and had to find blood on my own. Then I ate more of what gave me energy until I was drinking several jars of pickle juice a week.”
Would her blood have tasted like brine during those days?
“When I was mated, it was easier to hide.” Her smile turned sad. “A steady blood supply helps.”
“Wait—your team doesn’t know?”
Her shoulders tensed. “I don’t need to be coddled.”
“What if you’re mortally wounded?”
She was back to warrior Zoey. Hard and no-nonsense. “I’ve been mortally wounded before and survived. I don’t want them treating me differently and risking themselves.”
And he thought demons kept secrets. She hadn’t told her mate of eight years, or friends she’d fought beside for decades?
Stubborn.
Cautious.
He moved toward her until he was in front of her. This time, she didn’t back up.
“And what about my blood?” he asked.
“Blood is blood,” she said flatly and sidled around him to dive into the fridge and grab a bottle full of purple juice.
She sauntered to the loveseat in her living room and plopped down. He settled next to her. A TV that took up half the wall hung across from them. She flipped it on and a daytime talk show filled the screen.
“Demon blood is not just any blood.” Did she really watch this stuff? She never used to.
Using the remote, she flipped through channels, but her thousand-yard stare wasn’t focused on the TV. “I won’t need to test it.”
“Just saying. Electrolytes are called that for a reason. And I’m an energy demon. My blood may be what you need.” He didn’t know much about vampire biochemistry, but it was a reasonable assumption.
She snorted. Sweet brimstone, he’d always found that adorable. “I doubt that.” The remote clanked when she dropped it on the end table after leaving the TV on a morning news show. Now that was a little more like Zoey. She faced him, her eyes full of challenge. “You know something about me no one else does. Tell me something about you no one knows.”
Spill his secrets? He didn’t have many. What could he tell her that would help her trust him?
“My sire…” Was a hateful bastard that I adored and followed around like a puppy. Oh, and he didn’t want me. Okay, he wouldn’t go there. “My sire was a member of the Circle, but I was raised by my mother. She was one of the last female energy demons.”
Zoey frowned. “Don’t you guys procreate?”
“I should amend—purebred energy demons.”
He realized his unintentional revelation when Zoey asked, “But you’re second-tier. Both of your parents couldn’t be purebred.”
“Right.”
“But your sire was on the Circle.”
“Right.”
She sipped her Gatorade and waited for him to continue. He didn’t want to spread his family shame out for her to see.
“He was strong, had many of the exaggerated demon features you’d expect—horns, fangs, claws.” His father had towered above him, lorded his size over him. “Several members of the Circle and other purebred females wanted to breed with him, build energy into their genetics. But if they succeeded, imagine their surprise when a second-tier was birthed. Father couldn’t take the chance. He bonded my mother and managed to lock her away deep in the underworld.”
“And bonding does what for energy demons?”
“We can control our seed being spilled.”
Understanding dawned in her features. “So when Hypna forced you to…”
“When she didn’t get pregnant, despite using her venom on me, she knew.” Sympathy shimmered in her eyes and Stryke didn’t mind. “The worst part was fearing for your safety.”
Zoey looked away and set her drink down. “She figured out it was me when she determined it was you who saved me from Morgana.”
Stryke nodded. “Fyra and I worked together and didn’t hate each other like the Circle would’ve preferred. Hypna naturally figured out it was me who helped her by helping you.”
Only he hadn’t been helping Fyra. Stryke’s only concern that day had been Zoey’s safety.
Zoey still wasn’t meeting his gaze. She curled her legs under her and stared at the TV while two newscasters talked over each other. “You still have to tell me something no one else knows. The whole underworld probably knows your story.”
Stryke had to take his gaze off her, too. Most days it felt like the entire underworld had witnessed his shame. It hadn’t been his humiliation per se, but his sire’s. Stryke had managed to elude any more attention. He’d become a second-tier, done his job for decades, and coasted through life until he’d landed in Mitchell.
Zoey focused on him, the intensity burning a hole in the side of his face. He clenched his jaw and let his biggest secret spill.
What would she think?
“I had a brother.”
Zoey’s eyes flew wide. “What? Where?”
“I never met him. I was imprisoned for my first twenty years before my sire deemed me useful to him. I guess my brother was born sometime after.” His jaw tightened. Likely right after Stryke had been freed. When his father had “dealt” with his mother. “Mother hid him from Father,” protected him, unlike me, “but when he went down to end her for good, when the secret of his genetics was in danger of being revealed, he killed them both.”
“How old would he have been?” Zoey was filled with way more compassion than Stryke. He’d never gotten to know his sibling but had walked in on his sire’s rage-filled tantrum and gotten the gist of what,
or who, had been found.
“If he had lived, he would have been fifty-eight. When he was killed, he was probably only thirty.” In captivity longer than Stryke had been.
What lies had his mother spread about him? Chalk up another family member who probably had hated Stryke and cursed his birth.
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re seventy-eight? I’m older than you, too?” She shook her head, then gathered her hair over one shoulder.
He wanted to shove his hands through all that hair and smash his mouth onto hers.
“Was your mother awful?”
Ripping his gaze off Zoey’s long locks, he forced himself to meet her stare. “Yes.”
“That’s why you left her there and went with your sire. What was his name?”
Stryke sank back into the cushions with a sigh, his eyes on the ceiling. “I never knew his real name, but he called himself Burhn. Anyway, I was proof my mother wasn’t clever enough to best my sire, who was a mere second-tier who had not only posed as a pure-blood but had also attained Circle status. I was proof that my sire wasn’t purebred. Imagine being imprisoned with a parent who wishes you were never born. No, if she had been freed, she’d have tried to kill me as a start to reestablishing her strength.”
Then he’d have had to kill his own mother. It was bad enough he’d done nothing to end his sire’s humiliation.
When his sire had come by, throwing them food and supplies, Stryke had been stupidly enamored with the powerful male. Had copied every movement. Once he’d been freed, he’d taken on every mission his sire had favored. Like eradicating vampires.
Until he’d laid eyes on Zoey.
“Family, huh?” Her dry chuckle held no humor.
He rolled to the side and slid off the couch to his knees. Zoey pressed into the couch but didn’t run.
Was she as emotionally raw as he was? Their explosion together in the bathroom was a sign he hadn’t been wrong about them. They had chemistry and they’d just shared personal stories.
Now he needed to share her body.
Her breathing hitched.
“No mirrors out here,” he said.
Her gaze darted around as he crept closer. He was mere inches away; she licked her lips.
A smile curved his mouth. She wanted him again, too.
“I don’t think we should…”
“Probably not.” Agreeing would put her at ease; otherwise she’d think of reasons to object. He was only thinking of the ecstasy his body could bring her.
He rolled up her flimsy top and dipped his head down. She sucked in a breath as soon as his lips landed on her stomach. A sizzle of energy coursed between them.
Zoey squirmed under him as if she were trying to get closer. He kissed his way up to a breast and captured a nipple.
Her hands dug into his hair. Like him, she needed to feel good. To be taken away from debilitating disorders, lost mates, and crummy families.
Busying his hands with wrestling her shorts off, he was hit with the scent of her arousal. Sweet and fruity, like the juice she’d just drunk.
He had to taste.
Releasing her, he shoved himself down between her long legs. Her hands were still buried in his hair and they fisted as soon as he found her clit with his tongue.
Brimstone and tinder, she tasted like dessert. He settled in for a full meal, licking and sucking until she dripped. Feet pressed into his shoulders, she moaned with each lap of his tongue. He glanced up. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, her mouth open with her moans. Part of him knew that she’d shut her thinking self off, that she allowed her body to feel good but refused to consider Stryke. He was more than a vibrator to her, but he didn’t fool himself. Just because they’d each shared a secret didn’t mean she would hand herself over to him. Not his loyal Zoey. She’d had a true mate, and while Stryke no longer had to hide within Mitchell, it’d take an inhuman effort to step out of his shadow.
“Yes.” Her hips bucked, and he redoubled his efforts, wanting to be at the apex of her release, responsible for it, like he had been earlier.
Her hands landed on his head. She threaded her fingers under and around his horns to ride his face.
He’d grin if he could, but his tongue was busy. As a starving male, he’d take any sign that she was willing to let him all the way in, eventually. All restraint was fading and a zing of electricity curled between them.
She gave a sharp cry and shuddered. Stryke sent another small shock. Her juices coated him and she cried his name.
His name.
He reared up, shoved his sweats down, and impaled her with his shaft. It vibrated with his energy and she tried to spread her legs wider to accommodate him, but she couldn’t. Her legs had draped over his shoulders when he’d risen from her center. Planting his arms on either side of her, he began to ruthlessly thrust, each re-entry more forceful, filled with more of his energy than ever before.
Zoey collapsed back. Tremors shook her body as his energy rippled through her. In the back of his mind, he entertained the concern that his energy flow would disrupt her, deplete her resources. But he’d take care of her. He’d always take care of her.
Her channel was still rippling from her recent orgasm and he was stoking another climax. Fingers curled into his biceps and he swooped down to capture her mouth.
Her eyes flew open, then shut again as she relaxed into him so he could dominate her. Always a strong female, he was humbled she let him take full control of her body.
Sending energy into his kiss, it connected where they were connected, at their sexes.
Zoey tensed, her nails digging into his flesh. She tried to distance herself and scrape closer to him at the same time, but he refused to let her budge an inch away.
A primal snarl ripped from her throat and he swallowed it into himself. With their mouths smashed against each other, she couldn’t cry or holler her ecstasy, but she tried. Her orgasm suspended her in his arms and he soaked all of her in.
Stryke’s strokes shortened as his release exploded, encompassed by Zoey’s welcome heat.
Urgent grunts and groans escaped him, but they converged into one, holding on as if their lives depended on it.
He went still and so did Zoey, and they supported each other. Breaking their desperate kiss, he nibbled his way down to her neck.
She sucked in a gusty breath and tensed to squirm away, but he nipped her neck.
Her sex convulsed and he chuckled, his hot breath wafting over her until she shivered.
“I’m not done yet, Zoey.” Her hips rocked and his softened shaft hardened to granite. One time with Zoey was more than enough to get him through another five years. Two times was a fantasy. Three times was going to be reality.
“We shouldn’t…” she tried again. Her rational self was returning and he much preferred making her mindless.
“We already have.” He sank his fangs into a delicate vein.
Her hands were back in his hair and he was beginning to think she had a thing for his locks. “You can’t drink from me,” she murmured.
Did she fear he’d take too much and she’d need a Gatorade after sex? Releasing her only to say, “I’ll give back what I take,” he bit her again as he rocked his pelvis.
Her wet heat answered by gripping him with the strength he associated with her.
Yes, she needed this as much as he did. Wanted it as much—a startling realization for him. By now, she couldn’t fool herself that he’d taken her body for his own.
He lost himself as she breathed his name, lowered her legs from his shoulders, and wrapped them around him.
***
Creed scowled at the solid wood entry door and gave it a couple of hard knocks. Rourke waited with him. They’d been assigned to bring Grace’s family to the compound for safety. They’d gone back and forth. Bring them in where they’d all be in one pot for the demons, or set up surveillance to watch their place? But they didn’t have the manpower to be spread out, so they were here to bring the fa
mily in.
The door swung open and Creed cringed. Melody’s gaze landed on him and stuck, the beam of infatuation at full strength. Ever since they’d rescued her from Rourke’s brother, she seemed to think Creed had hung the moon and stars just for her.
He hoped it’d fade the longer she was around. The nanny position had been created just for her. They couldn’t send a human who knew all about them back into the human world. Her sunshine-filled personality, and the fact that she was all alone with no family, had endeared her to the rest of the team. But time had not faded her raging crush.
“Creed, what a surprise!” Her smile was wide and while it was a nice one, full of white teeth and no fangs, strong enough to light up an entire room, Creed dreaded it being aimed at him. Didn’t the poor girl realize that there could be nothing between them—even if he’d been interested? Which he wasn’t.
Her grin warmed as she turned to greet Rourke. “Hey, Rourke. Ari and Xavier will love to see you.”
The corner of Rourke’s mouth twitched. For him, it was a warm smile. “We don’t have time to stay and chat. Are you all packed?”
His friend had been the one to make the call to the Blanchettes. The orders had received no resistance. The Blanchettes had thought Grace had been slaughtered as a baby, only reconnecting months ago. They were taking no chances with their family’s safety.
“Yes, I’m packed,” Melody answered. Her cheeks were stained with the bright red blush she usually developed around Creed. He stifled his sigh. He was no one’s superhero and wished she’d direct her desire elsewhere. A human had no business lusting after him.
“Their bags are loaded,” she continued. “Grace’s parents are in the den, waiting for you guys. I was just finishing packing when I heard you knock.” She glanced at Creed and her blush deepened.
Rourke inclined his head. “I’ll load up the rest. Creed, help Melody with her bags.”
Creed slid an incredulous glare toward Rourke. The male was normally levelheaded. Why in the world would he fan the flames of Melody’s crush?
Rourke strode into the den, ignoring him. Cold bastard.
Creed forced a pleasant smile and when her smile increased in wattage, he immediately regretted it.
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