by L. D. Rose
“I don’t know,” she murmured, defeat weighing in her belly like lead. “I have nowhere to go.”
The ocean thundered around them, waves exploding against the rocks, another gust of wind flaying the air before easing into a breeze. His cobalt eyes penetrated hers, lightning striking in their stormy stare. Finally, he pushed off the boulder and climbed to his feet, closing the distance between them. He moved like a big feline, all lithe grace and sinewy muscle, his olive skin gray in the moonless dark.
When he halted in front of her, she absorbed every inch of him, from the way his pants barely hung on his hips to the tousled black hair plastered to his forehead. Healing combat wounds marred his otherwise smooth torso with cuts, gashes, scratches, and scrapes. Silver sparks glinted from his nipples and she realized they were pierced, too. He bore markings around his navel, a tattoo of some sort, but she didn’t risk studying them too closely.
Although she couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets his body held.
He offered his hand, strong and callused. She looked up at him warily, unsure of what it meant.
“You set me free.” Her voice sounded harsh in her raw throat. “Why?”
His hand remained steady, his expression guarded. “Because I no longer have a reason to keep you here.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll betray your location? That I’ll send others for you?”
“Will you?” He smiled and shook his head. “They would’ve already been here if you had.”
The words cut deep, stinging because they were true. “And you’re so sure of this?”
“Am I lying?” His face grew solemn, his mouth pulling into a frown. “You’ve been abandoned, Cindy. No one will rescue you. So you should rescue yourself.”
And now he has no further use for you. Unless, of course, he plans on following you back to your ‘nest’ and annihilating every ‘leech’ in sight.
She gritted her teeth, anger surging through her, swift and hard. Well, fine then. Not like she wasn’t used to being exploited then discarded like trash anyway.
Without another word, she stood and pivoted, stomping away from him. He pitched a sigh and called after her, but she ignored him, prepared to break into another mad dash. She’d run straight into the sea, jump right off that dock if she had to, let the water’s rage devour her whole and steal her away from this godforsaken life. But before she had a chance to act, that strong, callused hand grasped her elbow and spun her back around.
“Where are you going?”
She wrenched her arm from his grip. “Away from you.”
Cindel tried to put space between them, but he grabbed her again, cuffing her wrist this time, preventing her escape. His skin felt strangely warm, but it held no pulse of power with the contact, no glamour, just a hot-blooded male hand. She whirled back around to face him, resisting the reflex to bare her fangs.
No need to remind him that she was a so-called monster.
“What do you want from me?”
“I’m not forcing you to leave,” he said, voice calm with a subtle hint of tenderness. It was the tenderness that brought her to a standstill. “But if you stick with me, you won’t survive. Trust me, no one does.”
She glared at him, searching his face for any sign of deceit. He gave away nothing, his expression as serene as his tone. “I’ve survived this long.”
“Remarkably, yes.” His lips twitched, but the humor was short-lived. “Let’s say my friends won’t be nearly as forgiving when they find you.”
When, not if. “You mean your brothers?”
He set his jaw, casting his gaze away as if he’d recalled some terrible memory. “Yes. Anyone, really.”
Her hand relaxed in his grip, her fist unclenching. “I told you.” She tried to keep the sadness out of her voice, but failed miserably. “I have nowhere to go.”
“You can take the condo. I’ll leave.”
She didn’t understand this unexpected act of kindness, but she latched onto it like a child starved for attention.
Her fingers clamped around his forearm. “No,” she uttered, swallowing hard. “Don’t.”
His eyes connected with hers, piercing and intense. “You’ll die, Cindy.”
“I—” She started and stopped, choking on the lump of fear in her throat. It was unfounded, foolish really, without a lure to explain it away. “I don’t want to be alone,” she finally admitted, opting for the truth.
A muscle in his jaw flexed. His grip squeezed then gentled, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse in her wrist. His scent rushed past her, a provocative snare in the wind, and he released her, stepping back.
Her heart nose-dived into her stomach.
Shoving his hands through his hair, he blew out a shaky breath. “I can’t do this.”
Her mind grappled for something, anything, scouring for a reason to make him stay. She wouldn’t go back to Victor, couldn’t bear the thought of selling her body and soul again. She’d rather be Dax’s prisoner and keep whatever scraps of dignity she had left. The fact he was willing to set her free spoke volumes, a chord that strummed along her bones and resounded a song of hope.
All she’d ever wanted was freedom, and here he was, giving it to her. No obligations, no reservations, nothing in return.
And she was terrified to take it.
“I should’ve never brought you here,” he continued, his words sinking into her like knives.
Cindel shook her head, desperate now. “I won’t go back. I can’t go back.”
His eyes narrowed into blue slits. “Back where?”
“Back to him.” All of them.
His lips parted, his thoughts seeming to take a tumble before he picked them back up. “Then stay—”
“Please.” She dropped to her knees in front of him, sand and broken shells digging into her skin. Looking up at him, the backs of her eyes burned as she whispered, “Don’t leave.”
He gaped at her, throat working, mouth opening and closing. Unable to stand the pity on his face, she bowed her head, a sob swelling in her chest as she added, “I would rather die.”
Dax didn’t move a fraction, seemed to barely breathe, the ocean bellowing and the wind howling around them. An eternity passed, neither of them stirring, tears searing hot paths down her face as she waited for him to end it.
At last, he crouched before her, stooping to her level, warm hands resting on her shoulders. “Hey. Look at me.”
She mustered up the courage to meet his gaze, chin trembling. His eyes pinched, as if the sight of her pained him.
“I can’t stay.”
She nodded, slowly at first, then faster as yet another nail hammered into her proverbial coffin.
“But I’ll teach you to fight.”
What? She stilled, gawking at him.
“Or at least enough to protect yourself, to be on your own.” His grip tightened on her shoulders, his expression hopeful. Goddamn hope. “It’s ingrained in your instincts. You just have to tap into it. You want to learn, don’t you?”
She inclined her head, haphazardly wiping at her tears.
His relieved smile tugged at her heartstrings. “C’mon.” He indicated the dying bonfire in the distance, the firelight only embers now. “Let’s head back. It’s getting nasty out here.”
He helped her to stand, his hand brushing her back as she hugged herself, gathering her broken pieces together. Walking toward the building, he remained by her side, perhaps not quite trusting her to stay upright.
When she halted, he followed suit, their eyes locking in the dark. “What is it?” he murmured.
“Why?” Her frail voice was hardly audible to her own ears. “Why are you doing this?”
He took a deep breath, exhaling in a long whoosh. And what he said next shook
her to the core.
“Because it’s better to die on your feet than live on your knees.”
~ ~ ~
No man could resist the sight of a pretty girl on her knees.
Not even Dax.
He leaned on the dining table, setting the glass down in front of her. “Drink it.”
Cindy stared at the highball filled with thick, dark blood, a look of disgust on her gorgeous, wind-chapped face. But underneath that fragile expression, her hunger churned, an angry wraith within the black oblivion of her eyes. Shit, he even felt it, yanking on his guts and wringing his stomach like a wet rag.
Unless, of course, the craving was all his own.
Her gaze flicked to the near empty bag of O negative in his hand, propped up on the table with the port sliced cleanly off. “I have to drink it all?”
He nodded. “All of it.”
She rolled her eyes and wrapped her slender hand around the glass. She still wore his T-shirt, her raven hair windblown and frazzled, her skin so pale beneath the single light above them. The lamp was one of those fake chandelier numbers, with only one functioning bulb. All it did was accentuate the hollows of her face and create more shadows around them.
He was just glad to have electricity and running water.
She slid the glass closer, the blood nearly toppling over the brim. “How did you know my blood type?”
The question struck him like a slap, but he managed to keep the surprise off his face. “You’re O negative?”
She nodded, peering at the viscous surface. Two pink bubbles floated in the center and one popped.
He studied her intently, gears turning. Maybe that explained his response to her. “You don’t find that very often in vampires.”
She tilted her head at him. “Why not?”
“It’s uncommon in humans, never mind leeches. Most vamps die due to a lack of resources, if you get my drift. Everyone can feed on O negative blood, but an O negative vampire can’t have anything but.”
“Well, for a long time I never fed on anyone else except—” she caught herself, sealing her mouth shut.
His interest piqued sky high at the prospect of her divulging anything to him. “What?”
She didn’t look away, but her eyes swirled with secrets. “Are you O negative?”
Oh no, she wasn’t about to change the subject. “What were you going to say?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never had any blood type but O negative.”
“You must’ve had a pretty good supplier then,” he insinuated, searching for any cracks in her shell. “Someone with power, drugs, or a blood slave perhaps?”
Someone dangerous enough to seek the protection of a hybrid.
I can’t go back. Back to him.
Indignation tightened her fae-like features. “And what about you?” She motioned to the glass. “Where did you get this from?”
He scoffed. “I’m supplied.”
“By humans,” she stated more than asked, voice loaded with her own innuendo.
“Willing humans,” he emphasized, his blood pressure spiking. He should’ve expected this little debate. “It’s donated.”
She arched a trim brow. “Do they know where it’s going? Who it’s going to?”
Dax set his jaw. “At least they don’t die for it.”
Her eyes flared, full lips curling. Definitely pissed now. He preferred her angry far more than sad. “I’m not an animal—”
“Call me biased, but your kind has never proven me wrong. And neither have you. If you think I’m going to trust a hungry leech, you’ve got another think coming.”
Hell, he didn’t even trust himself when the monster inside him swam to the surface.
She glared daggers at him, defiance brimming in her eyes, but she brought the glass to her lips and knocked it back anyway. She started out fast, gulping loudly, as if she wanted to get it over with, but eventually she slowed as the buzz took hold. Her grip tensed on the glass, letting out a squeak, and she white-knuckled it with both hands, her throat contracting as she sucked down the blood in a way-too-intimate visual.
With that irresistible cherry and ash scent pumping from her pores, her face relaxed as the blood coursed through her, a sensation he recognized all too well. He pictured the rush, the pleasure lighting along her nerves, the sense of completeness, satisfaction, nirvana, if only for a brief period of time.
And goddamn, if he didn’t have a hard-on from watching her indulge herself.
When she hit the bottom, she came up for air, gasping as if she were drowning. Blood coated her lips, her little red tongue sweeping out to lick it away, and in that moment he would’ve done anything to smear that mouth all over his, to taste her from the inside out. When the table cracked and groaned under his grip, he let go, realizing he’d held on just a bit too tightly.
Check yourself, Dax.
Her eyes fluttered open, half-lidded and drugged as she gingerly set the highball down. “That was vile,” she whispered breathlessly.
I don’t fucking think so.
Hunger scrambled his insides, a feral need that had nothing to do with consumption and everything to do with sex. With a tremor in his hand, he dumped the rest of the blood into the glass, dropped the bag, then snatched the cup off the table. He chugged it, blood flowing like a cool river down his throat. The tang of preservatives hit the back of his tongue and he shuddered. She was right, it was disgusting, but it relieved the inferno in his belly and settled the beast inside him.
For now.
Setting the glass down with a crack, he braced his hands on the table and hung his head, breath ragged and fangs pulsing. The roar in his head dulled, the fire in his veins chilled, and his body eased back into its normal rhythm. He licked his lips before blood dripped onto the table, another shudder seizing him, final aftershocks from the feeding. Shaking it off, he looked at her to find her staring back at him, mesmerized.
Her red lips parted, her hand cupping the hollow of her throat, her eyes smoldering with desire and so many things he couldn’t decipher.
“Yep,” he breathed. “That was vile.”
She smiled, and as she opened her mouth to respond, his phone rang. The Prodigy’s “Firestarter” blared from the countertop near the sink, and he grabbed the cell, his movements languid and almost clumsy.
Now you’re blood drunk.
Blaze flashed at him from the screen, along with an image of his older brother flipping him off from the driver’s seat of a black Chevelle that no longer existed.
Dax met Cindy’s curious expression. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get changed,” he said a bit hoarsely. “Women’s clothes are in the master bedroom.”
She stood, nodding as he answered the phone. Tentatively sidling past him, she didn’t take her eyes off him until she left the room. He watched her go, the hem of his wrinkled T-shirt brushing her lean upper thighs, barely covering the round swells of her exquisite ass. She wore nothing underneath, her long legs peppered with sand, and he wanted to wrap them around him and—
“Yo, Dax?”
Averting his eyes, he swore softly. What the fuck was he thinking?
“Dax.” A rumbling bass boomed in his ear. “You there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He slapped a palm against his forehead in a futile attempt to focus. Blowing out a breath, he took another, trying to straighten himself out with a hard-on and an altered mental status. “What’s up?”
“You all right?”
“Yeah, fine.” His erratic gaze landed on the microwave, the blinking digital numbers reading 2:22 AM. Wrong. “Just woke up, that’s all.”
Fucking liar.
“Aw, did I wake you, Sleeping Beauty?”
“As a matter of fact, you didn’t
. Better luck next time, Charming.”
Blaze chuckled, a warm, thunderous sound. “Haven’t heard from you in a while, wanted to make sure you’re still breathing. When you coming back?”
“What’s the matter, Sparky? You miss me?”
“Actually yeah, I do. Shit’s hitting the fan here and I need your sorry ass back in the BX. Tell Kayne to give it up and get his own fucking snowman.”
“You can tell him yourself. What day is it, anyway?”
“Wednesday.”
“I’ll be back by Sunday.” As soon as I figure out what I’m going to do with Maleficent. “Promise.”
“Sunday? Are you shitting me? What the fuck? Goddamn leprechaun.”
“I don’t know, man. The rumors about their pot o’ gold are pretty spot on.”
Another sonorous laugh. “All right, Sunday then. I’m serious, we need you. Quit slacking off, the world doesn’t stop at a middle-grade sire, son.”
An undeniable warmth blossomed in Dax’s chest. Only Blaze could say congrats and give him the feel-goods by insulting him. “How many times do I have to tell you? Should I cross my heart and hope to die?”
“And stick a needle in your goddamn eye. Your promises don’t mean shit,” Blaze said bluntly. “Come back home.”
Then it sucker-punched Dax in the throat, an extraordinary urge to tell his brother everything. The yacht, the fight, Cindy, the couple, the way it made him feel, the way she made him feel, the fact he couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t let her go. He’d never kept anything from Blaze, not since he found his brother near dead beneath Grand Central Terminal half a decade ago.
Now the impulse to spill his guts was so great it smothered his lungs, stole his breath, and clawed at his vocal cords.
Blaze would understand, wouldn’t he? He had Valerie, a former NYPD detective and his own forbidden love. Except she was human and had proven herself trustworthy time and time again.
Sure, he would. Not like he wasn’t beaten and almost tortured to death by vampires. Naw, he didn’t have his dignity and his life nearly destroyed by leeches, and he still wasn’t suffering from flashbacks and nightmares and what the fuck is wrong with you, Dax?