From Beyond the Darkening © 2008 by Kerry Allen
Chapter Six
Amanda returned her gaze to the road after a quick flick toward Nate. Three times since the diner, he’d ground the heel of his hand against his left eye. Regeneration of healthy tissue would cause itching. So would a festering pocket of infection. Regardless of the prognosis, if he didn’t get relief from the discomfort, he’d cause further damage poking at the wound. He needed a doctor who specialized in vampires, sooner rather than later.
She could deliver him to his hometown hospital and the best care the Hilliard name and fortune could buy in two hours. Too bad dawn would catch up with them in about forty-five minutes, if the clock stuck to the dashboard was correct. No amount of influence could procure a remedy for vampire sun exposure. “Can you fit in one of those coolers?”
”If you had a chainsaw, I might fit in both. Find a hotel.”
”Most hotels require credit cards as sort of a security deposit, especially when the potential guests look as disreputable as we do.”
”Most hotel employees require numerous pieces of paper money as sort of a bribe, especially when the potential guests look as desperate as we do.” He produced a wad of such currency before she could point out their lack of same. Good old Hank thought of everything. “You’re not too chicken to spend one more day with me, are you?”
Her palms grew slippery on the steering wheel at the thought of being alone with him until sunset in any space smaller than a football arena. Five little words—I like having you around—and she came dangerously close to melting right into his hands. He liked having lots of things around, like thick drapes and clean socks. She’d have to be an idiot to believe she meant any more to him than that.
But more than her own weakness motivated her to find better sanctuary than a hotel could provide. “Our get out of jail free card seems to have been revoked. I don’t want to sit around waiting for the next assault.”
”I wondered about their change of heart.”
”More like a change of leadership.” She glanced at the rearview mirror. Still nobody hanging out the passenger window of an SUV with a rocket launcher—the subtle sort of tail she stood a chance of recognizing. “There’s a lot of infighting in the organization. I’m not high enough in the ranks to know the details, but I get the impression if some of the committee members don’t like a group decision, they send their personal minions to carry out their own agenda.”
”Typical bunch of power-crazed loonies, in other words.”
Dismissing them on the grounds of insanity would be a mistake. “History is full of crackpots who slaughtered thousands using little more than their righteous conviction. The SPH has that and the uppermost tier of modern technology at their disposal—weapons, satellite surveillance…”
”They’re traditionalists when it comes to torture, though. I can vouch that the technology of pain hasn’t evolved much in the last few centuries.”
The psychology had. He spoke of what they’d done to him with the same glib disregard he’d give a bad visit to the gym—the facility is top notch, although their customer service leaves something to be desired—but he’d kept her awake with whimpering and begging the tormentors in his dreams. Physically, he would recover with time. Emotionally, the experience hadn’t yet done its worst.
Establishing a sense of security somewhere that offered better protection than one unarmed woman would contribute more toward that aspect of his healing than anything else she could do for him. “All the more reason to get you home and out of their reach.”
”Trying to outrun them in broad daylight will end as badly for me as getting caught.”
That blunt reminder decided it. Finding a hotel for a vampire minutes before sunrise, however, proved a lot like finding a gas station with a thimbleful of fuel left in the tank. While the road behind them had been lined with nothing but, they now traveled a stretch of highway forsaken by the hospitality industry.
She plucked at her lip. Keep going and pray for shelter around the next bend, or turn back?
She checked the clock. She’d used more than half their time. Back wasn’t an option. “Without a chainsaw, is there any chance we could clamshell you inside those coolers?”
”No.”
”If it’s not a perfect fit, we can plug any gaps with our clothes.”
”As I recall it, you’re not wearing that many clothes.”
”Honestly, Nathan, there could not be a worse time to kid around.”
”You only use my full name when you’re scolding me or saying you love me. Don’t scold.”
Not a chance she’d do the other. “Then don’t act like a clown. There has to be a way—”
”I guarantee I’ve given this more thought than you have. If you stuck a Chinese gymnast in there, you’d have a gap. I’m three times that size and somewhat less flexible.”
She struggled to breathe around the tight band constricting her chest. “You don’t seem too bothered about it.”
He shrugged. “Few vampires have Olympic aspirations, most of the events being outside during daylight hours and all. They probably wouldn’t let us participate anyway, since we’d own you sissies in every competition.”
She gaped at him until the tires bumped over the reflectors studding the center line and yanked her attention back to the road. “I promise I won’t tell your family you lost your mind before you died.”
”Most of them think I was born in that condition. No point boring them with old news.”
”Stop it. They’re your family. They love you.”
”They’re going to have plenty of time to convince you otherwise.” He reached between the seats to lay his hand on her rigid shoulder, and her eyes filled at the realization it might be the last time he ever touched her. His voice warmed, melting the frivolous edge that cut into her heart. “Hey. Don’t cry.”
She blinked to clear her vision. “Give me one good reason not to.”
”Because I feel like a failure when you’re hurt and unhappy.” He rubbed his knuckles along her jaw, wiping away a stray tear. “Or because this is the part where I make you believe everything’s okay. We’re practically on my home turf. Unless you’ve been lying about the landmarks and exceeding the speed limit less than my heart-in-throat gauge suggests, there should be one of the big franchise hotels coming up, soon enough that you might want to ease off the gas.”
She shook her head. There was nothing. Trees and fields, trees and fields, more trees and more fields, an endless loop of the same scenery.
The road dropped into a steep decline, revealing a dead-ended overpass, two gas stations, and a McDonald’s hidden in a dip in the earth. Right at the bottom of the slope, someone with high hopes civilization would eventually expand far enough in this direction to give travelers a reason to stop had constructed a Holiday Inn.
That is, they’d stop if they weren’t plunging down the hill at seventy miles per hour.
She stood on the brake. The tires screamed against the asphalt. She wrenched the steering wheel to the right and veered into the parking lot with the speedometer kissing forty. The van hit a speed bump, became airborne, and came down at an angle that caused the front fender to scrape the ground— successfully reducing their speed enough to allow her to swerve around the corner of the building rather than crash into it. The side mirror clipped the wall, snapped off, and clattered over the top of the van. The van screeched to a halt, tucked out of sight between a U-Haul and a dumpster.
She removed the keys from the ignition and folded her hands in her lap to control their shaking.
Nate pried his fingers from the dash, leaving dimples in the plastic. “That’ll teach me to make assumptions about my longevity. You couldn’t make a U-turn and come back?”
That option had been unavailable. “It’s not allowed. There was a sign.”
”Oh. I didn’t realize there was a sign.” He slumped against the door, quaking with stifled laughter. “The worst part is, I couldn’t see my life flashing before my eyes.”
The adrenaline haze began to dissipate, and her sense of urgency returned. She got out of the van. “You drive next time, smartass. Let’s get a room.”
”Your enthusiasm is gratifying, but I’m not that kind of a boy.”
”Nathan!”
”All right, calm down.” He ducked into the back of the van and rummaged through one of the coolers. “Keep an eye out for your lost sense of humor while you’re out there.”
She jerked open the van’s rear doors. “Excuse me if I don’t find death as amusing as you do.”
”I’ve been expecting my imminent demise for over a week. Surviving the SPH, blunt trauma to the head, and your driving has instilled in me a sense of immortality.” He emerged with a flannel bundle tucked under one arm. “You’ll be pleased to learn I can now feel in my skin how close we’re cutting it, so I’ll quit giving Death the finger until I have a roof over my head.”
He didn’t bicker this time when she took his hand and led him toward the front entrance of the hotel. She wasn’t sure they’d get much further than that. She’d cleaned the blood off his face at the diner, but his clothes looked as if he’d used them to sop up evidence of a multiple homicide. “If you put on that shirt, it will hide most of the blood.”
”It’s already hiding blood.” He flipped back a corner of fabric to show her a bedtime snack. “Among other things. They’ll have to take me as I am.”
”Stay behind me. Maybe nobody will notice.”
A sensible plan, or so it seemed until they reached the door. She reared back from her own reflection in the glass. The tiny mirrored square in the phone kiosk hadn’t done her justice. The painted-on dress covered her boobs or her crotch, but not both simultaneously. The sultry eye makeup applied two nights previous had formed black rings around her eyes and dripped in grimy rivulets down her cheeks, and her hair stood on end as if she’d been electrocuted.
She looked like Alice Cooper in drag.
She pushed Nate into the lobby ahead of her. “On second thought, you look more respectable than I do. Keep the fangs under wraps and please do not try to be funny, and they might not throw us out.”
The desk clerk’s slack jaw dashed those hopes. Oblivious to the unfavorable reception, Nate rapped his knuckles on the desk. “We’d like a room, please.”
”I’ll, ah, need a driver’s license and credit card.”
He peeled five bills off the roll. “Here’s my driver’s license.” He added another five bills. “And here’s my credit card.”
The clerk glanced at the money on the counter, then flipped to the next page in her magazine to read about the latest celebrity liposuction.
Nate bent his head toward Amanda. “Perhaps I should have asked you about denominations before I started throwing bills around.”
”They’re twenties, and that’s more than enough. This isn’t exactly the Four Seasons.”
The front wall of the lobby consisted entirely of plate glass. The sky had begun to fade to gray. Sixty seconds of diplomacy, then the clerk was going to be vampire chow and get stuffed in a broom closet to sleep it off while they took their pick of keys from behind the counter. “Look, we’ll take any room you have and be out of here at nightfall.”
”Technically, checkout is at ten, so if you stay until dark, you’re overlapping onto a second day.”
Amanda’s lips peeled back from her teeth. “Broom closet it is.”
”Darling, be reasonable. We’re asking this lovely lady to violate corporate policy on our behalf. It’s only natural that the reward should justify the risk.” Nate added another hundred to the reward.
Satisfied with the offering, the clerk tucked the money into her bra. “What’s with the blindfold?”
Nate looped his arm around Amanda’s waist and nuzzled her hair. “It heightens the anticipation.”
The clerk stared at him until Amanda slapped her hand on the counter and regained her attention. The woman shrugged. “I’m not supposed to do this, but it’s filling an empty room, right?”
She handed over a key and pointed them down a narrow corridor. The windowless room that matched the number on the key was a thrifty businessman’s special, devoid of amenities but rich in noise and humidity by virtue of its proximity to the laundry.
The bathroom made it worth three hundred dollars a day. She took shameless advantage of Nate’s inability to see it. “Ladies first!”
She shucked her clothes and squeezed into the narrow shower stall, lathering herself from scalp to toes with the sliver of soap provided. The lone towel was the size of a sheet of newspaper and equally absorbent, but the lingering moisture on her skin failed to dampen her mood.
She hung her dress from a hook on the back of the door to air out and twirled into the bedroom wearing her not-so-fresh bra and undies. “The water is scalding and the pressure nonexistent, but it’s all yours.”
His brows arched above his blindfold. “Did you use that shampoo that makes the women in the commercial really happy?”
She flopped onto the bed. The bedspread released a puff of air redolent of mildew and canned lavender and the sort of business with clients who paid by the hour. Civilization had found this spot, after all. “Clean makes everything better. Go. Wash.”
The bathroom door closed, as did her eyes. She couldn’t remember ever being so weary, but as sleep overtook her, a persistent hammering jarred her awake—his elbows banging against the shower walls.
She pressed her fingers against her gritty eyes. He would be one big bruise by the time he finished. The anticoagulant made a bruise as dangerous as a cut. Blood pooled under the skin was as useless to him as the blood on his shirt.
The vampire cure-all was more blood. She’d force more down his throat before he went to sleep.
She rolled out of bed, the paleness of her skin in contrast to the dingy room making her conscious of the vulnerability inherent to her state of undress. Nate couldn’t leer at her, but if they had to leave in a hurry, she didn’t want to run out nearly naked or waste time squeezing into her clothes.
Not only that, but the thought of prolonged contact with the bedding made her skin crawl. At least, she hoped it was the thought having that effect.
She unwrapped the blood. The handgun included in the bundle gave her pause. In theory, a weapon was a useful addition to the care package, but firing one wasn’t in her skill set. Nate had been trained in the use of firearms like any good soldier and was a good enough marksman to show off for his admirers, but sight probably had a great deal to do with his proficiency.
The gun’s dull black surface gave her a sense of foreboding rather than security. She set it aside with the blood and commandeered the flannel shirt. It fell to mid-thigh, covering more skin than her dress. She took a bag of blood to bed and sat with the pancake-thin pillow between her back and the wall.
He spent more time in the shower than she had. Since lack of vision shouldn’t significantly impair his ability to bathe, she guessed it was because no amount of scrubbing would wash away his ordeal.
He came out of the bathroom, elbows raised as he tied the scarf around his head. “I had a glacial torrent, but you’re right about being clean. I feel almost normal.”
He wore only his jeans. The denim rode low on his narrow hips, baring a great deal of bruised skin marred by puckered scars. His bones were no longer prominent, muscle definition returning to fill in his shoulders, arms, chest, abs. No woman in her right mind would complain about a few skin imperfections.
Her relief that his skin wasn’t burned, blistered, and rotting away took some the edge off her anger that he’d been cracking jokes while she feared for his life—some, not all. She’d feed his belly, but not his ego. “You still look terrible. I warmed a pint for you.”
He combed his fingers through his damp hair. “Why?”
”I hear the bagged stuff tastes like plastic. I can’t give it the flavor of fresh, but I can serve it closer to the proper temperature.”
”That wasn’t the question. I wouldn’t have complained about the blood if it had been so old and scabby I had to chew it. Why bother making it more palatable for me?”
”It’s no bother. My lap didn’t have anything better to do.” She tossed the bag to the foot of the bed, yet another rejected offering. Why wouldn’t he accept blood from her by any means unless he was on the brink of starving to death? “You’re out of your element. I feel responsible for you. That’s all.”
”Like a stray puppy. Give me my shots and a bath, keep me fed until you find me a good home.” He slouched against the wall with his thumbs hooked in his front pockets, dragging his jeans down to expose another inch of hard stomach. “I’m housebroken. I don’t shed. I have a certain scruffy charm. Aren’t you the least bit tempted to keep me?”
”With your history of unprovoked attacks, I ought to have you put down.”
”That’d be a more believable threat if you hadn’t cried over me less than an hour ago, and if you hadn’t risked your own life getting me away from that lab. Those are not the actions of a woman who merely feels an obligation.”
She would have preferred mockery to his gentle, coaxing tone. It was easier to be angry with him while he was being a jerk, easier to be angry than to admit the extent to which she cared.
Easier to stick with the impersonal. “How are your eyes?”
A drawn-out sigh was his only comment on the change of subject. “The useless one itches like a mother, and the one that’s trying to work hurts so bad, I’m scared to touch it for fear it will burst.”
Ocular pressure might be glaucoma, one of the more benign side effects of the drug combo she’d given him—except that she’d never heard of a vampire with glaucoma. Human cases were treated with eye drops, but human medications frequently had reduced or even contrary effects in vampires. After everything he’d been through, he now had to look forward to being the guinea pig in some ophthalmologist’s research.
”You’re going to pull your lip off if you keep tugging on it.”
She dropped her hand from her mouth. “You can hear that?”
”I’m good, but I’m not that good. You’ve always done that when you’re worried.”
She’d broken herself of the habit since the last time she’d seen him. She couldn’t afford to reveal any insecurity, any vulnerability while surrounded by the enemy—but opening herself to the man who had caused her the worst pain of her life still came naturally. “I have reason to worry. You should have been in a hospital yesterday. We’re sitting ducks here.”
A hazy unease that had been lurking in the back of her mind since the diner came into sharp focus. “Oh, my god. They’ll check the records on the pay phone. They’ll find Dan.”
He gave a quick jerk of his head. “He won’t be unprepared for this kind of trouble.”
She had never known her brother to be unprepared for anything, but how much further would he retreat from the world to escape the trouble she’d brought to him?
She tipped her head back. Fatigue dragged at her eyelids, but her seething thoughts would make sleep impossible now. “I’m so tired of the people I love getting hurt.”
”At least it’s never been as a result of your cruelty.” The edge of the bed dipped beneath his weight. “Why did you try to hide who you were from me?”
”I couldn’t risk you rejecting the help of someone you despised.” And I thought you’d be less likely to hurt a stranger. “If things had gone according to plan, we wouldn’t have been together long enough for you to figure out who I was.”
”Figure it out?” A wry laugh punctuated the question. “I knew when they wheeled me into the building you were near. Did you think I wouldn’t remember your voice, your scent, the way I feel when you walk in a room?”
She hugged her knees to her chest. She’d been relieved when he didn’t remember—or pretended not to, matching her deception with one of his own. There was a time he wouldn’t have lied to her. Why she’d assumed that would hold true when everything else had changed defied explanation. “It’s been a long time since you felt anything for me.”
”So I tried to convince myself, but one mention of your name had me racing across the country to pry you from the clutches of the SPH. Someone neglected to mention you were there voluntarily.”
”That’s how you got caught.” She closed her eyes rather than look at the results of what he’d suffered for trying to help her. “This is all my fault.”
”I got caught because I was careless,” he corrected in a stern tone that discouraged argument. “Your only fault was making me want to be a hero when I’m better suited to mastering the latest installment of Guitar Hero.”
Her hands balled into fists. The SPH wasn’t the first group to damage him. His family treated him like a useless playboy because he hadn’t taken to the boot camp that began when he was old enough to walk, but she knew better. While the other men in his family ruled by intimidation, Nate was more of a diplomat. People liked him, looked up to him, turned to him for help, but General Hardass, Sr., didn’t value that kind of leadership and never let his youngest son forget it. “That sounds suspiciously like your father talking.”
His mouth took on a bitter twist. “He became more influential when I lost the one person who told me when I was doing the right thing, not just being a rebellious brat. I needed that one voice to drown out the chorus of ‘you’ll never amount to anything.’ I needed a voice I could trust.”
Her family had been immune to much of his family’s influence. Her father, a professor, and her mother and brother, both doctors, were assets to the community, and the protection from any unpleasantness that might encourage them to leave extended to her. While everyone around Nate was either spying on him to garner favor with his father or sucking up to him as an alternate means of social climbing, she’d felt free to speak her mind, even when her opinion wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He could rely on her honesty, but what an annoying little pest she must have been. “You didn’t lose me. You threw me away.”
”Now that you’re a captive audience, you’re going to listen to my explanation.”
She bristled at the command. “I’m not the one trapped in this room by daylight.”
”You leave, I follow. As you recently demonstrated some unwillingness to have me turn crispy, you’ll stay put.” He shook his head and muttered a curse. “I do sound like that insufferable bastard. Show me you care even a little bit, and I use that knowledge to threaten you. Let me try again. I promise not to kill myself if you leave, but if you stay, I’m talking. Please stay.”
A lump formed in her throat at the note of pleading in those last two words. How could he beg her to rehash having her heart broken? “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
”Maybe not to you, but it matters a hell of a lot to me.” His hand inched across the bedspread and stopped just short of touching hers. “While you were in Europe, my mother was applying pressure to take on a domestic.”
”I’m surprised she’d waste her breath. You couldn’t have been more clear that you wanted nothing to do with one.”
By adolescence, his aversion to the practice had become a matter of principle, but its roots reached deep into his childhood. His father’s resident blood donor had been with him longer than his wife and, like a long-time mistress with a misguided sense of entitlement, never fully ceded the role of lady of the manor. The tension between the two women transformed the household into a powder keg—not the safest place for a rambunctious little boy to spend his formative years.
”Tradition is far more important to Mother than what I want. She was thrilled when you came home.”
She found that difficult to believe. Make that impossible. “Your mother hated me. I was single-handedly responsible for preventing you from having a better class of friends.”
”So you see why her enthusiasm aroused my suspicion.”
She would have been suspicious too—of Caroline Hilliard, who had a reputation for arranging pawns just so and sitting back to watch the game unfold. Manipulation was her primary form of entertainment. “You should have known I would never plot against you with anyone. Since we were kids, I was always on your side.”
”We weren’t kids anymore. Life wasn’t that simple, and it got a lot more complicated the moment you walked into my arms.”
The way she remembered it, she hadn’t walked so much as flung herself and—as if that weren’t undignified enough to send a murmur of disapproval rippling through the crowd—kissed him before she lost what little courage she’d scraped together while standing out in the frozen garden.
She’d been trying to catch a chill so her nervous sweat wouldn’t stain her gown. Weeks of mounting excitement at the thought of her reunion with Nate took a vicious plunge toward apprehension the night of the party. She’d done a lot of growing up during the years of separation and assumed he had changed, as well, in ways that weren’t obvious in their quick phone calls and e-mails. What if long time, no see was all they had to say to each other when face to face? She had no faith in her ability to make polite chitchat about the weather while mourning the loss of her best friend.
She decided to leave rather than confirm her fear they’d grown apart. Before she reached the garden gate, Leo stepped into her path. “Don’t be a coward.”
His arrival made her shiver where the frosty air had failed. In all the time she’d known him, she had never seen him smile or frown or display any indication a feeling being occupied his steely shell. “Don’t you ever get scared?”
”One has to care about the future in order to fear it.”
”So your advice is not to care?”
”My advice was don’t be a coward. Running away won’t change the outcome, only delay it.” He stepped around her and continued toward the house, too little interest in her to wait for a response.
Indecision immobilized her until her limbs grew numb with cold. She had only two choices: avoid Nate for the rest of her life and prolong this suffering for years, or go inside to confront her fear. Learning the truth might hurt, but ignorance was definitely not bliss.
Why was she so pessimistic, anyway? He might be eagerly awaiting her arrival, his disappointment growing with every passing minute. Ringing in the New Year with a midnight kiss had been his suggestion, after all. She’d never known him to offer a girl a kiss and not follow through. If she wasn’t there, someone else would be happy to take her place.
Her eyes narrowed to slits. Like hell some bimbo was getting the kiss she’d been pining for since her twelfth birthday.
She marched through the garden, stomped across the terrace, and jerked open the French doors. Her entrance attracted plenty of stares, but only one of any interest to her.
He stood with Leo on the far side of the room. He had changed—he’d grown taller and broader, and his face had shed the softness of adolescence—but not for the worse, as far as she could tell with a look.
The same old grin flashed, and he said, just as the hush affecting those nearest her fell over the remainder of the room, “Told you my girl’s no coward.”
The joy of being publicly claimed as Nate Hilliard’s girl endowed her with the grace that had eluded her for the previous two decades. She seemed to glide across the room without her clunky feet ever touching the floor. They collided at the halfway point, and she threw her arms around his neck. “That kiss is mine.”
He folded her in his arms and lifted her off the floor, laying to rest her worry about a tepid welcome. Her lips thawed against the heat of his, and the uneasy awareness of not quite fitting in anywhere that had plagued her most of her life melted away. She belonged with the only one who had always accepted her in all her ungainly, overly cautious, claustrophobic glory.
She peeled her lips from his to catch her breath. “Happy New Year.”
”Not for another half hour, but the potential is definitely there.” He lowered her until her toes touched the floor. “You’re a popsicle. What kind of school fills your head with useless knowledge like Latin and history but doesn’t teach you about coats?”
He clasped her hands, brought them to his lips, warmed them with his breath. Still teasing. Still looking out for her. Still Nate.
So she said, “I love you, Nathan,” the formality to distinguish the declaration from the thousand times she’d said, I love you, knucklehead, or words to that effect.
Which he somehow interpreted as a sign she had conspired against him with his mother, who was perfectly capable of orchestrating such a production… or not doing so but dropping hints that she had. It was a win-win setup for Caroline. He would either succumb to her demand to settle down with a stable food source, or he would shun the pesky human she’d never thought good enough to associate with him.
It never occurred to Amanda he might be on edge about their reunion too, hypersensitive to indications his worst expectations had been fulfilled. She always thought of him as being so sure of himself and forgot that his contemptuous father and manipulative mother had trained him to doubt everything and everyone, including himself.
She stalled, he attacked, both trying to protect themselves and failing epically.
”It’s gnawed at me, all this time, wondering if I made a terrible mistake.” His mouth tightened. “Maybe I didn’t want to learn the truth because if I was wrong, nothing could repair the damage I’d done.”
”You could have told me why. It would have changed everything.”
”Not everything. I can’t rewind the last six years like they never happened.” His fingers brushed hers, then curled under his palm, as if to avoid a slap for their audacity. “Tell me it’s not too late to change what comes next. I don’t trust fate to give me a third chance if you walk out of my life again.”
She shared the blame for the wasted time. If she’d gone to him between crying jags to tell him he was a jackass, they could have gotten all this out in the open long ago. “It will never be the way it was before.”
He turned his face away from her. “I know. I broke the trust we had, but—”
”That can heal now that it’s been set straight.”
His head snapped around.
”There’s no going back from what we did last night, though. I can’t be your gal pal anymore.” She curved her hand around his fist. “I always had a hell of a time tolerating your other women. Now that I know what you can do with these hands, making nice with the girlfriend du jour would be impossible.”
He started to say something, thought better of it, and shut his mouth. It took him a few seconds to regroup. “You want me to give up women?”
”God forbid. Just other women.”
”Okay.”
Her brows shot up at the speed of his agreement. “I expected more resistance.”
”I’m extremely repentant. If limiting myself to you is the sacrifice I have to make, so be it.”
”I’ll notify the martyr registry.” She shifted her legs so she knelt in front of him. He radiated fever like a space heater. Any physical demonstration of absolution should probably wait until he was no longer black and blue and unwell all over.
She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “You should eat and get some sleep.”
He snagged his fist in the front of her shirt to halt her retreat. “I’m not an invalid.”
”If you could see yourself, you’d think otherwise.”
He pulled her toward him. “You’ll just have to be gentle with me.”
”It can wait a few days, until you’re feeling better.”
”A lot can happen in a few days. Capture by bad guys. Another act of stupidity on my part. Zombie apocalypse.”
She placed her hands on his shoulder to steady herself. The latter two possibilities were remote, but disaster might very well strike in the form of the first—and, unlike Nate, she hadn’t forgotten she would eventually have to contend with Leo. They had ample reason not to let any opportunities slip away from them.
The mattress springs squeaked as she edged closer. “It occurs to me, you knew you were seducing me yesterday, not some mystery woman.”
”Distracting, not seducing.”
”Right.” The damp hair at his nape curled around her fingers, a cool oasis after the journey across the scorching expanse of skin between his shoulder and neck. “You still thought I was a traitor then, but you gave distracting me your very best effort.”
”Generally speaking, I try to keep sex and punishment for imaginary treachery separate.” He lifted the hand twisted in her shirt to nudge her under the chin. “If you’re surprised I wasn’t violent with you, all the groveling in the world won’t redeem me from such a low opinion.”
”Not at all where I was heading, Hilliard. Try to keep up.” When she couldn’t get any closer without crawling into his lap, she straddled him, knees gripping his hips. “I was thinking if you’re that attentive to a woman you hate, now that we’re on friendly terms, you’d better be extremely… generous.”
”But no pressure.”
”You were always one to rise to a challenge. You’ll do fine.” She ran her tongue along the part between his lips. “You taste like blood.”
”You taste like pickles and dead cow, but I’m willing to overlook your disgusting eating habits.”
He caught her mouth, a warm, clingy kiss in no hurry to take on the frantic desperation of its predecessors. His tongue invaded to slide along hers, melding their flavors together.
She cupped his cheek in her palm, ran her thumb over his upper lip, and pressed down hard against the top of his canine, where vampires had a sensitive pad of tissue that swelled and caused their fangs to extend a few extra millimeters when they became excited.
He groaned against her lips. “Who taught you that trick?”
”You did.”
He pulled back when she tried to kiss him again. “Believe me, I’d remember.”
”You were fifteen. I had you in a headlock, and your fang got snagged on my sleeve. When I tried to untangle it, you got dopey-eyed and red in the face and couldn’t form a coherent sentence.” Then he ran away like she’d sprouted cloven hooves and a forked tail, treating her to her first sip of feminine power. “I’d never seen the affliction up close and personal, but I watched enough cable to recognize the classic symptoms of a horny teenage boy.”
”It’s coming back to me, something about the coldest shower in history. I kept my teeth well away from you after that to avoid any more accidents.”
”Is that why you refuse to bite me, adolescent sexual guilt?”
”No.” Rather than elaborate, he unfastened her buttons and explored the skin along the edge of her bra with his lips. “What color?”
Maybe his interest in her underthings hadn’t been a token effort to distract her from her phobia, after all. If he had a thing for lingerie, she’d have to acquire some more interesting than neutral-colored satin and cotton selected for functionality rather than sex appeal. “Plain, boring black.”
He followed the same path with his fingertips. “I wish I could see you. You were always so beautiful, all that inky hair and pale skin, like Snow White.”
”You never thought of me like that.” She grazed her fingernails over the tattoo on his upper arm. “I was Manda Panda from the day we met.”
”My perception of you shifted the first time you stuffed your bra and I foresaw the future.” He unhooked the front clasp of her bra and caught her breasts in his palms when they spilled free. He made an appreciative sound deep in his throat. “I was right. This is not stuffing.”
Nerve endings in far-flung regions of her body tingled as he teased her nipples with the gentle stroke of his thumbs. “How do you want it, Tessler, nice or rough?”
He slowly circled one hard peak with his tongue, then switched to the other side, this time capturing a mouthful of her breast and sucking hard. At the scrape of teeth, her thighs clenched reflexively around his hips, bringing her in closer contact with the hard ridge trapped behind his fly. His hands settled on her ass and squeezed, grinding her in tight circles against his erection.
The friction scoured away her patience for gentle lovemaking. She shoved him down on the bed. “Rough. Now. Please.”
All the smooth merging of the day before fell by the wayside as they grappled to get each other naked and jockeyed for the best position. She growled at him when he tried one too many times to get out from under her.
He flopped back against the mattress. “You always had to be on top when we wrestled.”
He could have brushed her off like a crumb any time he wanted. “For all your whining, I think you like being on the bottom. Are you going to be a sore loser this time too?”
”One can always hope.”
She laughed against his chest. His heart raced beneath her mouth, easily twice the pace of hers, an unwelcome reminder he was in less than peak form. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
”If you have to ask, you’re not as perceptive as I give you credit for.” He arched his hips so the tip of his cock rubbed against her slit, coating both with her slick arousal.
The persistent rhythm he maintained bred a hollow ache inside her that begged to be filled. She closed her hand around his shaft and positioned him for entry, taking him in slowly, savoring the invasion. His impatient fingers dug into her hips, so hard she’d have her own bruises by nightfall, and she would relish every one as a reminder. Uniting with him brought with it both a sense of completion and an anticipation of more and better awaiting them, just beyond the edge on which they balanced.
She rocked, testing how long she could sustain that expectant feeling without tipping one of them over.
”I want to watch you tease me more than you can possibly imagine, but there is a silver lining to being blind.” He reached between their bodies to stroke her with his fingers. “I have no choice but to learn my way around by touch.”
He was quite a tease himself, lingering in one spot until she never wanted him to stop, then flitting away to research another. “You’re a good student.”
”Mm, but I don’t graduate until I can navigate you with my tongue.”
The suggestion and the wicked tone it came wrapped in sparked ignition. Scalding heat flashed through her, contracting her muscles, tightening her skin, stripping her mind of everything but his name until the fire consumed itself and she collapsed on top of him. His lips drifted over her eyelids, her burning cheeks, her lips, soothing, undemanding.
Then he flipped her over, withdrew from her and drove inside, deep and aggressive.
Her head fell back off the edge of the bed. There were worse positions to be in, but she hated to set a precedent where he thought he could get away with this sort of thing. “Get off.”
For some reason—surely not the hands gliding down his flanks to knead his firm buttocks—he didn’t take the command seriously. “Make me.”
Her chest hitched with laughter. “Gee, Hilliard, I’m doing the best I can.”
He groaned against her throat. “Don’t laugh now. The ego may be huge, but it’s fragile.”
”You don’t feel fragile to me.” Her breath deserted her when he hooked his elbows under her knees and bent her body so he could penetrate even deeper. In that position, she was helpless and overpowered and very sorry she hadn’t let him be on top sooner. She gasped for air. “But I’ll give you huge.”
”That’s more like it.” His controlled thrusts became demanding and urgent. He didn’t pause on the edge, forcing her over again and diving after her.
He supported his weight on his elbows, his ragged breaths drying the sweat on her breasts. His smirk revealed a glint of fang. “Loser.”
She regained sufficient motor control to tap two fingers against his cheek. “By my count, I’m up two to your one.”
”But I made the two happen.”
”Is that how we’re keeping score?” She shoved at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, arm hooked around her waist to drag her with him. She kissed a trail down his belly to investigate how they tasted together from another angle. “In that case, we’re going to have one very happy loser.”
From Beyond the Darkening © 2008 by Kerry Allen
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