Hunt the Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  Dammit.

  She’d done so well keeping her intense need for him locked behind a frosty wall of offended anger. She’d allowed him into her bed once and what had it gotten her?

  A door slammed in her face, that’s what.

  But trying to nurse that sense of injustice was suddenly an impossible task.

  Not only because he’d given her a glimpse of the lonely man who’d tortured himself for years, perhaps centuries, over the death of his sire. But because she wanted him.

  That simple.

  She wanted to shove her fingers into the satin darkness of his hair. She wanted to strip off his clothes and kiss a path over his hard, perfectly chiseled body. She wanted to wrap her lips around his hard cock before he was shoving her flat on her back and plunging so deep into her that she cried out his name.

  Abruptly realizing he was studying her with eyes that had gone smoky with an answering need, Sally took a step back and tried to pretend that she wasn’t aching to feel those extended fangs plunged into her neck.

  “What about you?”

  His hungry gaze skimmed over her face before lowering to the exposed column of her neck.

  “The sunproof rooms are in the basement.”

  “No, I meant—” Heat filled her cheeks.

  “What?”

  She licked her lips. “Dinner.”

  Her hair was tugged by a burst of chilled air as Roke struggled to contain his fierce need to pounce.

  “There will be blood kept in the lower rooms.”

  Her gaze dropped beneath the scorching need that smoldered in his gaze.

  This was insanity.

  Just because Roke had allowed her to see past his grim exterior didn’t change anything.

  How could it?

  They were still bound together by magic she didn’t understand.

  They were still on the run from a crazy-ass demon and fairies who may or may not want her dead.

  And he was still a chief who had pledged his loyalty to a clan who would never, ever accept her as his mate.

  “Of course,” she muttered.

  His finger slid beneath her chin to tilt her face up to meet his suddenly worried gaze.

  “Sally, what’s wrong?”

  Wrong? She bit back a hysterical laugh.

  What was wrong was that she was being burned alive by a craving that threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Nothing.” She wiped her damp palms on her jeans, well aware her arousal was scenting the air. “I think I’ll check out the kitchen.”

  His gaze settled on the unsteady curve of her lips. “Hungry already?”

  “No, but I want to see if there are enough ingredients to brew a few protective spells.”

  He frowned. “The spells—”

  “Nothing dangerous,” she said. “I swear.”

  He paused, searching her wary expression as if hoping to find . . .

  She wasn’t entirely certain what he was looking for, but he obviously failed to find it as he dropped his hand and stepped back.

  “Don’t try to leave the house.” He nodded toward the monitors displaying images of the thick trees that circled the house. “The security alarms are set.”

  Stupidly she found herself disappointed at his easy retreat.

  What did she want?

  For him to ignore her don’t-touch-me vibes? To force her to overcome her logic and ease her gnawing frustration?

  Christ. She was a mess.

  It was a wonder the poor man hadn’t dumped her along the side of the road for his own sanity.

  She hunched a shoulder. “I’m not going to take off.”

  “Good. For better or worse, we’re in this together.”

  “For now.”

  His lips twisted into a humorless smile. “I’ll be downstairs.” He reached beneath his jacket to pull out the music box. “Do you want me to lock this in a safe?”

  She reached to take it, feeling the magic wrap around her with a sense of pleasure.

  Perhaps she should be worried by her growing delight in the surge of rich, potent power that raced through her as she traced one of the mysterious hieroglyphs, but it felt so utterly natural it was difficult to imagine it was dangerous.

  “No, I’ll keep it with me.”

  Roke hesitated, as if he wanted to say something. Or maybe he wanted her to say something.

  Maybe to ask him to stay?

  When she kept her eyes averted, he muttered something in a low voice and turned to make his way toward the staircase that led to the lower floors.

  As she felt the chill of his presence disappear, Sally heaved a deep sigh and headed toward the kitchen.

  She’d hoped Roke’s departure would ease the restless frustration that was plaguing her. Instead, it only intensified it.

  Unless she intended to follow him to his private rooms and fulfill her vivid fantasies, she needed to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied.

  Roke went through the motions.

  He fed from the bags of blood kept in a refrigerated safe hidden in the wall. He showered and changed into a black satin robe that had been left in the closet. Then he forced himself to lie on the king-size bed that dominated the wood paneled room.

  He was too old a vampire to need sleep, but he did need to rest to replenish his powers.

  So while he tended to his physical needs, his mind remained consumed with the female who he could feel moving through the house above him.

  Her first destination was the kitchen where the smell of herbs mixed with her intoxicating peach scent that seemed to grow more vibrant and complex with every beat of her heart.

  Hours passed before he at last heard her heading up the stairs and stepping into the shower. He growled low in his throat at the thought of her standing naked beneath the cascade of hot water.

  He’d been in a constant state of arousal since he’d caught the subtle shift in Sally’s awareness of him.

  Sitting across the table in that café, he’d been painfully aware the second her pulse had picked up and her eyes had dilated.

  And even now, her desire hummed through their mating bond, calling to him like a siren’s song.

  But as revved as he might be to satisfy their mutual hunger, he hadn’t missed her tension.

  She wanted him.

  But she wasn’t yet prepared to trust him.

  And between the two, it was her trust he most needed.

  How else could he protect her?

  All very noble, he acknowledged with clenched teeth, but painful as hell. It was no wonder saints always looked like pious sourpusses in their paintings.

  Blue balls would do that to the most heroic man.

  Waiting until he felt her crawl into bed and tumble into sleep, Roke rose from the mattress and began to methodically clean his guns.

  It was a task that kept his hands occupied, but his mind free to work through his tangled thoughts.

  The sun was setting when he felt a tingle of fear race through the mating bond followed by a hoarse female cry.

  Instantly he was on his feet, allowing his senses to spread through the house as he raced up the steps.

  He could detect no intruders, but that didn’t halt him from vaulting up the second flight of steps with a blinding speed, the gun he’d just loaded held in one hand and his fangs fully extended.

  Exploding into Sally’s room, he came to an abrupt halt, his brows drawing together as he realized that she wasn’t being attacked.

  In fact, she remained deeply asleep on the large bed.

  He grimaced, about to back out of the room when she twisted onto her back, revealing the sweat coating her face.

  “No,” she moaned in a tortured voice. “Leave me alone. Please . . . please.”

  Roke moved forward, his heart clenching as he watched her struggle against an unseen foe.

  “Shh, my love,” he murmured, joining her on the bed and pulling her into his arms. “I’ve got you.”

  She thrashed against hi
m, whimpering in fear until he lowered his head and brushed a soft kiss against her forehead.

  “Roke?”

  “Easy, love,” he husked, his hand running a gentling path up and down her back.

  “Roke?” Slowly she lifted her lashes to reveal her eyes still dark with terror. “What happened?”

  He tucked her tight against his chest left bare by his gaping robe.

  “You were having a bad dream.”

  “Oh.” She shuddered, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Tell me why you were screaming.”

  Her lashes lowered, as if hoping to disguise her lingering unease.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her tone fierce, as if she was trying to convince herself. “It’s over.”

  “I shared my nightmare,” he reminded her, using the tip of his finger to trace the line of her lower lip. “It won’t bring Fala back, but it did allow me to accept her death without the bitterness that has been destroying me. Sometimes a wound has to be lanced before it can truly heal.”

  Thankfully his low words seemed to offer a measure of comfort, and he could feel her tension easing as she nestled her head against the width of his chest.

  “Maybe this wound shouldn’t heal.”

  “I don’t believe that.” He leaned down to give the lobe of her ear a punishing nip. “Tell me.”

  She grudgingly tilted back her head to meet his steady gaze.

  “The Dark Lord.”

  Roke brushed the damp strands of her hair from her face, already having expected what tormented her.

  “He’s dead, Sally. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “I know that logically, but—”

  He stroked his fingers down her throat. “But?”

  Another shiver wracked her slender body. “Do you know why the Dark Lord accepted me as a disciple?”

  He settled back against the headboard, cradling her shivering body in his lap.

  “I assume it has something to do with the fact that you happen to be one of the most powerful witches ever born?”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

  He brushed his lips over the top of her head. “I’m not sure either,” he admitted wryly. “You terrify the hell out of me.”

  She gave a shaken laugh before she was sucking in a steadying breath.

  “I was still on the run, trying to hide from the witches my mother had sent to trace me when the Dark Lord . . . contacted me. He said I possessed a talent that no one else had.”

  Roke grimaced. He was familiar enough with the evil deity to know the bastard no doubt smashed into poor Sally’s mind with the force of a cement truck.

  “What was your talent?”

  “I was a conduit.”

  Roke frowned. “What’s a conduit?”

  Her hand gripped his upper arm, her heart pounding at the memory.

  “The Dark Lord could speak directly through me,” she rasped. “I had a direct connection so he could use me like I was his personal cell phone.”

  “Shit.” He slid his lips to her temple, his arms wrapping around her as if he could take away the horror. He’d been wrong. The Dark Lord hadn’t been like a cement truck in her brain. He’d been a constant, pulsing, malevolent force. “I’m so sorry, Sally. I wish I could scrub away the memories.” His lips moved to her cheek. “Actually, if you weren’t so damned powerful I could scrub them.”

  “No.” Her hand unconsciously smoothed up his arm to his shoulder. “I need to remember the danger of putting my fate in someone else’s hands.”

  Roke glanced toward the heavens. Of course she would use the memory of her brutal enslavement by the Dark Lord to try to build an even greater wall between them.

  “Putting yourself in someone else’s hands isn’t always bad,” he murmured, deliberately allowing his fingers to trail down her back. Being the good guy clearly wasn’t working. Maybe it was time for a more direct approach. “We all need to depend on someone once in a while.”

  She made a sound of disbelief. “Mister Lone Wolf trying to preach to me about depending on someone else?”

  He trailed his lips up the line of her jaw, savoring the scent of peaches as he found the racing pulse just below her ear.

  “I depend on others,” he assured her.

  She swallowed a small groan, her nails digging through the thin silk of his robe.

  “Who?”

  “My clan.” He used the tip of his tongue to trace the large vein on the side of her neck. “My Anasso.” He tugged aside the narrow strap that held up her satin nightgown she’d no doubt found in the closet. “You.”

  “Me?” She sounded genuinely shocked. “What would you depend on me for?”

  It was a question he’d been avoiding since the mating first happened.

  She was right.

  He did like playing the lone wolf. Well, not a wolf. He hated Weres. But, he’d preferred to keep others at a safe distance.

  It’d been that way for centuries.

  And yet, in the few weeks since their mating, he’d become growingly content with the sense of Sally that was nestled deep inside him.

  Not just the glorious sexual heat that flowed through him like molten lava, but the complex combination of fear and joy and aggravation, not to mention his obsessive need to protect her, that seared away the ice he had used to protect his heart after Fala’s death.

  Now he made no effort to deny the intoxicating brew as he shoved his fingers in her hair, tilting back her head to give him easier access to the delectable line of her collarbone.

  “You’ve reminded me that life isn’t just about duty,” he admitted, his fangs scraping her delicate skin. “And that I’ve closed myself off from my emotions for too long.”

  Her breath came out in a shaky sigh, her firm ass wiggling against his cock with an invitation that made him groan.

  “The emotions—” Her words were cut short as he kissed a path between her breasts.

  “Hmm?” he prompted.

  “They’re not real,” she moaned.

  He chuckled, using a fang to slice through the nightie and expose the perfection of her breasts.

  “Oh . . . I’d say they’re very real.”

  Sally jerked as he licked the tip of her breast. “I meant the emotions,” she choked out. “They’re not real.”

  Roke lifted his head to meet the guarded gaze. His entire body was hard and aching with anticipation.

  “They feel real,” he muttered, his voice already thick with need. “They feel painfully real.”

  She briefly stiffened and Roke braced himself for her rejection. Goddammit. Even when he could feel her body trembling with need, she seemed determined to fight her desire.

  Then, holding his darkened gaze, she allowed her hand to slip beneath his robe, splaying her fingers over his unbeating heart.

  “This is only going to complicate the situation.”

  His already hard erection gave a painful throb. Her touch was so light he could barely feel it, but it was enough to send an explosion of pleasure through him.

  This woman had the power that no other possessed.

  Her every touch, every brush of her warm breath, every beat of her heart, made him feel as if this moment was something new. Something so rare and precious that it could only happen between the two of them.

  And perhaps that was true.

  Perhaps the connection between mates added a depth of intimacy that could never be experienced by two mere lovers.

  Certainly there had never been another woman whose hunger was a tangible force that pulsed deep inside him, arousing his own desire with shocking force.

  He groaned as he lowered his head to bury his face in her hair, filling himself with the scent of warm peaches.

  “The situation has been complicated from the beginning, my love,” he murmured. “But this . . .” He traced the shell of her ear with his tongue.
“This part is simple.”

  She shivered. “What if it makes the mating permanent?”

  The thought should have been worrisome. Surely nothing was more important than breaking the unnatural bond?

  Instead he dismissed her concern without a second’s hesitation.

  “There could be a dozen ways we might accidentally make the mating permanent,” he muttered, covering her hand to press it hard against his chest. He was so hungry for her touch it was a physical pain. “Besides, if you were a demon who based your powers on sex, we’d know that by now. You would have been compelled to seek out sex, even if it wasn’t with me.”

  She bit her lower lip. “Maybe.”

  He frowned. He didn’t need the mating bond to know she was fiercely aroused.

  Her need scented the very air.

  But, tilting back her head, he read the hesitation still darkening her eyes.

  “What is it, Sally?”

  “I feel—” She licked her dry lips, sending a flare of heat shooting straight to his cock.

  “What?” he husked.

  “Out of control.”

  Shit. He’d been floundering out of control for weeks. It was becoming a normal state of affairs.

  “And that’s a bad thing?” he asked.

  Her expression remained somber. “For me . . . yes.”

  Ah. He understood.

  Her life had been a desperate fight for survival since she turned sixteen; no doubt the only thing she’d been able to control was her own body.

  But, the Dark Lord had even taken that away from her by making her his conduit.

  It had been rape at its most basic form.

  No wonder she was wary of putting herself in a vulnerable position.

  “You want control?” he murmured softly, planting a kiss on her plush lips. “You’ve got it.”

  With gentle care, he scooped her off his lap, laying her next to him on the mattress before he stretched out his legs and settled against the pile of pillows.

  She blinked in confusion, her hair a tumble of red and bronze and deep gold as it framed her pale face.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m yours. Do what you want.”

  Her brows lifted, but he didn’t miss the covert curiosity in her gaze as it lowered to take in his chest that was exposed by his open robe.