He kissed her—hard and fast. Whatever else she was going to say died in her throat and she whimpered, once more wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him tight. So tight. She couldn’t ever let go. If she did, she’d wake and realize this wasn’t real. She’d wake . . . and he’d be gone.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered against his mouth. “Please, you can’t ever leave me again.”
“Shhh . . . ” he crooned. Lifting his head, he stroked her hair back from her face and cupped her chin. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
He kissed the tears away from her cheeks and shifted around, grabbing a blanket from the foot of the bed, pulling it over them. That was when she realized they were in a bed. She didn’t remember even leaving the shower.
They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Occasionally, she’d find herself stroking the place on his back where she’d stabbed him. It was fully healed now, but she could still feel the echo of the injury inside. More, she’d see that mark on his gleaming, golden skin for the rest of her life. For always.
She had to swallow convulsively, bile churning up her throat, as she realized she’d stabbed him in the exact same place he’d been stabbed . . . before. Back in that other life.
“How did this happen?” she finally asked, once she could speak without tripping over her words, without choking on the tears that still clogged her throat. “How is it that you are here?”
“You’re asking the wrong person.” He shifted, shrugged. One long-fingered hand toyed with her hair, winding one strand around his finger. “I’m still trying to catch up.”
Capturing her lip between her teeth, she sat up and studied his face. “You . . . You don’t look anything like you used to. But then, again, I guess you wouldn’t, would you? You’re not exactly the same man, are you?”
“No. Not exactly.” Lashes lowered over his eyes and his chest rose, fell on a sigh. Habitual gesture, she suspected. Although vampires didn’t need to breathe, many still did, especially when they were nervous or worried. Reaching out, she laid a hand on his chest. His skin was still warm, from being pressed against hers, and from feeding.
She’d shared her warmth with him, her life. Of course, she’d done it after she’d tried to kill him.
He covered her hand with his, squeezed gently. Slowly, his lashes lifted, revealing the dark, melted chocolate of his eyes. “Some of me is the same . . . but some of me . . . well, it isn’t.”
As he sat up, she cocked her head. “You feel the same to me. If I had seen you walking down the street, I would have known you.” Then she made a face. Closing a hand into a fist, she whispered, “But you had to find me when I was taking my merry little ride into the land of fuck-it-all.”
“ Hmmm.” He linked their hands, lifted them so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. “And exactly how did you end up in the land of fuck-it-all?”
Nessa shrugged. A rueful grin curled her lips and she said, “Oh, that’s been quite a journey. Five hundred empty years, and then I think I’m done, I’m finally done and I’ll be able to go to you. Find you. And . . . ” She trailed off, rubbing her brow.
He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know what happened with Morgan.”
“Then you’re a step up on me,” she sighed. “I still don’t know what happened with Morgan. Or at least, I don’t understand it.”
He laid a hand on her cheek and she rubbed against it, so desperate for his touch.
“Anyway, for a while there, it was touch and go. I began drifting closer to the land of fuck-it-all, but mostly got straightened out. Ended up meeting this girl. A sweet, talented girl . . . she was like a daughter to me. One I never had a chance to have. And she died.” Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them away. “Too much loss. All these years, there’s just been too much loss.”
Taking a deep breath, she continued, “I tangled with that witch you met earlier. Her name was Isis—mean as a snake, that one. I fought her and got careless. She caught me at just the right time and I went flying, scrambled my brain just a bit—not anything bad, but it was enough that she got away and I’d knew I’d have to track her. I was lying there, healing up and thinking . . . I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to live this life . . . I don’t want to remember this life.
She stopped and looked up at him, blood rushing up to stain her cheeks.
He blinked at her. “You thought it.”
“Yes.” She licked her lips and used her free hand to tuck her hair back behind her ear. “I thought it. And, I guess, some part of me really wanted it.”
He shook his head and murmured, “Things like that don’t happen just because you think it.”
“They can if you’ve got the power to make it so . . . and the desire.” Lowering her gaze to the sheets, she whispered, “I cursed myself, and I did a right fine job of it, too.”
Cursed herself. Damned herself. Almost damned him, as well. Almost killed him. Stop it—no more crying over that. Not now.
She took a deep breath and looked back at him. He was staring at her, as though he didn’t know what in the hell to think.
That makes two of us . . .
Forcing a smile, she glanced around the room. “So there is a real bedroom in this place, I see. Not just that tiny closet you had us in.”
“Yeah.” A grin crooked his lips and he shrugged. “I just like the inner room better. Don’t have to worry about sunlight or anything in there.”
“The inner room. This is one of the safe houses,” she realized. Another realization slammed into her. Memories of the past hours became clear and as they did, pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
Hunter.
This was one of the safe houses—she’d stayed in enough of them to recognize one. The safe room, the mini fridge—likely a stash of blood, kept for the vampires.
Isis—bugger. That bitch had called him a Hunter.
Hunter. He was a Hunter—
His fingers skimmed down her cheek and she tensed, jerking her head up to look at him. He stilled, his hand lowering to his side.
The smile on her face felt brittle. “You’re a Hunter.”
“Yeah.” He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. He raked the heel of her hand with his teeth and then pressed a kiss to her palm. As he did it, he watched her face, a calm, measuring look in those dark brown eyes. “And I’m getting the feeling that bothers you.”
“Bothers me.” She closed her eyes and tried to figure out how to answer that . . . without lying. “Lover, everything about this bothers me. I can’t understand it, not any of it. I keep thinking, What is all this? What on earth is going on?” She shrugged and shook her head. “And I have no answer. Part of me believes I am sleeping, just dreaming, and soon I’ll wake up.”
Her breathing hitched in her throat and she had to fight not to crawl back into his lap and wrap herself around him, clutch him tight, hold him close and never let go.
I will come back . . .
Taking a deep breath, she blinked away the tears and said softly, “And if that happens, I’m gone. I won’t be able to handle it. I’m just not strong enough.”
He cupped her face in his hand and said quietly, “You’re a hell of lot stronger than you think.”
“Maybe I used to be. Once.” She turned her face into his hand, rubbing against him like a cat. His hand was callused, strong. She could imagine happily spending the rest of her life, however long that might be, feeling these hands on her every single day.
She’d waited so long for him . . .
He felt like Elias to her. He felt like her love.
But is that who he was now? Was this who he wanted to be?
Was she who he wanted?
She was so confused. And tired—blast it all, she was still so tired. But right now, she couldn’t try to think anything through, she couldn’t even try to rest. She wasn’t capable of it.
Just enjoy it, she told herself. Take what remains of the night a
nd enjoy it . . . have a think through later.
Giving in to the urge, she climbed into his lap and pressed her back against his chest. She drew his arms around her waist, settling against him with a sigh. “I’m going to make a guess, here. Your name isn’t Elias, is it?” she asked, tongue in cheek.
“No.” He kissed her temple and rested his chin on her shoulder. It felt so natural . . . so right. Like they had done this a thousand times before. And they had—not a thousand times, perhaps not even a hundred. Their time together had been so short. Too short. But he had held her like this. She’d rested in his arms, and felt so at peace . . . so safe. So loved.
“Then what is it? You’re not going to make me guess, are you?”
She could feel him smile as he murmured, “No. It’s Dominic. Dominic Ralston.”
“Dominic.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyeing the inky black hair, the smooth, pale gold of his body—golden, even though his skin hadn’t seen the kiss of the sun in years. “Italian American?”
“Yeah. Via Memphis.”
“Memphis.” She grinned and pressed her lips to his jaw.
“Memphis, Tennessee. That would explain that sexy drawl of yours.”
“My drawl?” He cocked a brow.
“Yes. Very sexy . . . that Southern accent of yours, I have to say, I do like it, quite a bit.”
He tugged on her hair. “I don’t have an accent. You do. You sound like a prim and proper British schoolteacher and it makes me want to do whatever I can to ruffle your feathers.”
“Ruffle my feathers?” She shifted around in his lap. “Trust me, lover. You have done much more than ruffle my feathers. You’ve shaken the very bedrock of my world.” She skimmed a hand through his hair as she added, “And you damn well do have an accent—a very fine one, too. I swear, all it took was about two words from you and my knickers just about fell off.”
Then she slid a hand down his chest and whispered, “And I’m no prim and proper schoolmarm, English or not. But if you’d like me to pretend . . . ” She closed her fingers around his cock and started to stroke him. “I’d be pleased to oblige.”
“Don’t tease me.” He shot her a lambent, heavy lidded glance. “You going to dress up in some cute little plaid skirt and swat my hand with a ruler if I’m not a good boy?”
A laugh gurgled out of her. “You pervert. And I’m certain it’s the schoolgirls who wear the cute little plaid skirts, not the teachers. I’d wear a skinny black skirt with some sexy little slit in the back. Perhaps pearls and a pair of spectacles.”
“Hell, a pair of pearls and some spectacles would do it for me.” He slid a hand down her back, resting it on her rump. In a low, rough voice, he muttered, “But you’re doing it for me now, too, just fine.”
She shifted around. As she took him inside, her breath caught in her chest. “Am I?”
CHAPTER 22
DAWN was close . . . too close.
Keeping her in his arms, he pressed a kiss to her naked shoulder and murmured, “I need to move to the inner room, Nessa.”
She snuggled back against him. “No, you don’t.”
“Yeah, I do.” He shot a look at the big picture window over the bed. It faced the east and already, he could see the sky lightening. It was probably going to be a beautiful sunrise—not that he remembered them too well. Sunsets, he could take, but dawn was a distant memory. Too bad, too, because he’d love to lay here with her and watch the night bleed away into day . . . holding her.
“No.” She rolled over onto her belly and stared at the window. A glazed look entered her eyes, and they began to shimmer, swirl and glow. The air around him felt charged and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
Magic—shit.
It carried a punch, too, heavy and hot, like a summer thunderstorm—one with a promise of devastation.
Then she blinked, and it was done. Smiling at him, she stroked a finger down his jaw and said, “You have the most powerful witch the Council’s ever seen tucked naked into your bed, Dominic. You could take a walk along the beach at noon without fear, if you wanted.”
“And if I could stay awake.” He slanted a look at the window, a grin curling his lips. “I’ve been waking before sunset for a while now, watch the sun go down every now and then. Over the past few weeks, I’m waking earlier than ever. But . . . well, it’s not the same as being able to lie in a bed during the day and not worry about waking with third-degree burns all over my body.”
Dropping back down, he caught a strand of her hair and wrapped it around his finger. “This has been a very insane day, you know. I can’t quite believe you’re here.”
“Nor can I.” She snuggled against his chest and rested a hand just above his heart. She felt one faint beat and a few minutes later, another. Here. With me, she thought, amazed. Alive.
A vampire. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she whispered, “Tell me how this happened to you . . . how you came to be a vampire, how you came to be here. ”
“It’s not a fun story.” He kissed the top of her head. “It’s one you’ve probably heard before though. I ended up in the hands of a feral—he bit me, left me to die. A Hunter saved me, brought me through the Change . . . kept me from killing myself those first few weeks.”
“Why would you have killed yourself?” she asked, lifting her head and peering up at him. Her heart hurt. She could feel the echo of his pain, pain he was still working to make peace with.
He could try to make peace with it all he wanted, but she wasn’t ready to even begin—she didn’t even know and she was furious. She hurt, she raged . . . she wanted to kill. Kill whoever had harmed him, even though if he hadn’t been bitten, she may have never found him.
The Change was brutal, and when it was forced on a person, even to save their life, it was so much worse.
He was quiet, and she pushed up onto her elbow, staring at him. “Why?” she asked again. “Because you didn’t want to be a vampire?”
“I didn’t want to live, ” he said, his voice flat and hard. A dull, ruddy flush stained his cheeks and he looked away, shamed.
Fear curled inside her, a nasty, unwanted little worm that stretched and grew with every passing second.
This was a proud man . . . a confident one. And the Change hadn’t caused it—she recognized the inborn strength inside him. He’d been strong from day one . . . in this life, in the last. Not many things would push a strong man to serious suicidal thoughts.
“The vampire who bit me—the feral . . . ” Dominic sat up and turned his back, staring blindly ahead of him.
Slipping out of the bed, she came around and knelt in front of him, resting her hands on his thighs. Yes . . . she’d heard this story before. He didn’t even have to speak the words. She already knew.
Her heart, it was breaking inside her chest.
And deep inside, the monstrous anger. Thirsting . . . craving . . .
Blood.
Pain.
It was alien—she’d craved vengeance before, many times, but never like this. Never so blindly. Never so . . . cruelly.
Shoving it down, she caught his face in her hands and guided his gaze back to hers. “What did he do to you?”
Dominic’s hands closed around her wrists, squeezing tightly, near to the point of pain. But he didn’t push her away . . . he held her closer. Tighter.
Desperately.
“Whatever cruelty you can think of, he probably did it, or some variation,” he bit off. “That fuck taught me what it was like to be helpless, what it was to truly know fear, and to crave death, the way an addict wants another hit. When he was done, all I wanted to do was die.”
“But you didn’t.” She pressed her lips to his chin.
“No.” The hands on her wrists loosened and when she pulled away, he let her.
Looping her arms around his neck, she said quietly, “Because of the Hunter . . . this one who saved you.”
“Yeah.”
He wouldn’t look at her.
Wouldn’t look her in the face, wouldn’t meet her gaze.
Nessa rested her head against his shoulder. “Memphis . . . would it be Rafe?”
A brief pause, and then he said quietly, “Yes. You know him.”
“Hmmm. Yes. There was a time when I knew nearly every Hunter in the world.”
He looked at her from the corner of his eye and she took advantage of that, leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. When he turned his face to her, she deepened the kiss and then waited until some of the tension inside him, some of his rage and shame faded.
She kept her own feelings tamped down, locked up deep inside.
He had suffered so—the other half of her heart—and she’d done nothing. Hadn’t even known.
“Nearly every Hunter,” she repeated. Giving him a smile, she cupped her face in her hands. “That would be many, many Hunters . . . and now Rafe is my second favorite.”
“Favorite?”
“Yes. You, of course, would have to be my absolute favorite.” She pressed her breasts against him and gave him a coy smile. “While I was never prim and proper, I was a schoolteacher for many, many years.” She paused, frowning. “Although by the time I was teaching, I wasn’t any man’s idea of sexual fantasy material.”
His hands curled around her hips. “Somehow, I don’t quite believe that.”
“Hmmm, well you’ve no idea what I looked like five or six years ago.” Then she frowned. “Was it five or six years ago? Bloody hell, I don’t even know . . . I think it was longer, actually. Nevertheless, trust me, lover. I was no man’s fantasy material.”
He nuzzled her nape and whispered, “I know what happened to you, and I have to admit, while I hate that I left you alone so damn long, I’m not sorry you’re still here . . . however it happened.”
“Such a smooth talker you are.” Sighing, she curled her arms around his neck. “The two of us, we’re quite a pair, aren’t we? Here I am, well past five centuries, and you’re . . .” Her voice trailed off and she scowled. “Do I even want to know how old you are?”
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