02 Blood Roses - Blackthorn (11 page)

‘But you did it for money. For bounty. You were a hired assassin. For the Higher Order, right? It sounds to me like you don’t think much of them, yet they paid your wages. Principles don’t matter much when it comes to money, I assume?’

‘
Paid
being the operative word. I used to work for them. Not anymore.’

‘Because you thought we were no more.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And how much would they be willing to pay you now if you handed me over?’

‘Oh, they’d expect you for free – loyalty to our leaders and all that. But I’d probably be able to barter a very lucrative sum I should imagine.’

‘And is that the real reason you want me alive at dawn? Because I’m worth more breathing than dead?’

‘I have all I need. I don’t need to sell you. The Higher Order don’t need to know my business, just as I’m not interested in theirs. What goes on here is between me and you.’

‘Me, you and the people we love.’

‘And you’ve just got to remember that.’

‘And if I am proved innocent?’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘Because you’re going to see to it, right? I’m going to be here until you’ve turned me into what you want me to be.’ Despite her resolution, she stood up and glowered down at him. ‘You can go to hell, Caleb,’ she said, and stepped away.

‘Sit down,’ he said curtly.

She froze to the spot. With all the courage she could muster, she glared back across her shoulder at him.

His stunning green eyes narrowed sternly on hers. ‘I said,
sit
down
.’

She shouldn’t have hesitated. She should have resumed her seat. But beneath the accumulating fear was a rush of excitement. Of intoxicating anticipation of what he’d do if she continued to defy him.

She didn’t know where it came from. Even felt angry for going back on her promise to herself that she wouldn’t provoke him. But the fact she remained standing there, as they stared each other down, told her that this was the power her kind felt when faced with them. She didn’t have to be afraid. Not afraid enough to do whatever he demanded.

If she was going to walk away, she knew the sensible option was to turn towards the bathroom and lock herself in until every sinew of her body stopped sparking under the intensity of those captivating eyes.

But she didn’t opt for the sensible option.

Whether it was pride, indignation or plain rebelliousness that governed her decision, or whether the serryn in her was starting to surface, she turned back down towards his room –the ultimate defiance, entering his most personal territory uninvited. And her body shuddered with the excitement of the challenge, at what he’d do next.

Each step felt laborious as she marched back down the hallway, her legs quaking, her mind not engaging fully with what her body was doing, the latter coming against her will.

She stepped back into the library, the only light in the room from the remains of the burning embers. She marched across the room to the winged-back armchair and slid the sash window up, desperate for air despite the late-night chill. Her skin prickled as she looked out over the district, bright lights igniting the dense darkness, the intoxicating smells and sounds once again a reminder of how far she was away from the silence and sanctuary of home. The rain had ceased again momentarily, but the air was still thick with the threat of an ongoing storm.

He wasn’t going to let her defiance go that easily, she knew that much. And now she’d taken that bite, she had to chew and swallow what was to come, however bitter the taste.

Taking a few deep, steadying breaths, she sat in the chair, needing to before her legs gave way.

Her heart leapt as she heard the quiet closing of the door behind her, but she wouldn’t look over her shoulder. Her stomach clenched and, to her loathing, it was from more than just fear. Sat in the darkness muted only by the distant amber glow of the starving fire, she braced herself.

Stepping in front of her, Caleb leaned against the spare strip of wall beside the window.

After a few painful seconds, she built up enough courage to look up at him. Her heart pounded erratically as their eyes met.

But he didn’t say anything. She wished he would. She wished he’d say anything to break the density of the two-foot gap between them. His silence only infuriated her further, his demonstration of control sparking every urge for her to claim it back.

And as he calmly lowered to the floor, it only unnerved her more. He placed one foot possessively on the leg of her chair, forming a barrier to the easiest of her escape routes.

‘You’re a belligerent little madam, do you know that?’ he said, his eyes glinting.

‘Because I won’t roll over and play dead? It’s not going to happen.’

‘I’ve worked that out for myself.’

‘Then why haven’t you also worked out how insane all of this is?’

‘This is all part of it, fledgling. Not losing your nerve already, are you?’

‘If I was losing my nerve, I would have sat back down out there.’

‘So this isn’t you running away?’

‘You’re too used to everyone doing as they’re told.’

‘That’s because other people learn faster.’

She exhaled curtly. ‘Is this the best you’ve got? I defy you so I get a pep talk?’

‘We both know you’re going to get more than a pep talk.’

Her stomach flipped. Eyes that were composed stared back at her with uncompromising intent.

She moved to stand but he slid his bare foot up to the arm of the chair, closing her in. She clutched the arms of the chair, and froze on the edge of the seat.

‘You run away a lot, don’t you?’ he said.

‘I’m not running away; I just don’t like being around you.’

‘If you’re so confident in your convictions, why does it make you so uncomfortable having me this close?’

She moved her lowered gaze to his groin. She could slam her foot into it so easily.

‘You wound me and I’ll be forced to check everything still works,’ he warned.

Her gaze snapped to his and she was met with dark, coaxing eyes.

‘Unless a tussle will make all this easier for you?’ he added. ‘Reduce the guilt.’

She frowned. ‘You’re twisted, you know that?’

She instantly recoiled a few inches as he eased onto his knees in front of her.

She clutched the arms of the chair as he closed the gap between them. Despite her racing pulse, she didn’t attempt to fend him off as he reached behind her knees and parted her legs, pulled them around his thighs. Her grip on the chair tightened as he slid her towards him in one swift move, his jeans soft against her inner thighs.

‘I’m more than twisted,’ he said, his lips dangerously close to hers. ‘I’m the worst kind of vampire your grandfather warned you about. But you’re the one who’s craving me, so what does that make you?’

She stared into his dark green eyes, his constricted pupils. She’d never noticed how his irises were subtly rimmed in black before, how they were flecked with hints of brown, a sharp contrast to the darkness of his thick lashes.

She didn’t struggle. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Maybe it was because she knew it was futile. More likely because she knew, abhorrent as it felt acknowledging it, she didn’t want to.

‘I don’t crave you,’ she said, despising the way her body responded instinctively to his, her flight defences inactive. Even in her fear, something felt so right, so natural. Whether it was because of her infuriating attraction to him, or because her serryn nature was pushing to the surface, she couldn’t be sure. But every muscle in her body tensed, heat rushing between her legs, her resilience weakening.

Her heart jolted as he prized her left hand from the arm of the chair, pressed it gently into the crevice between the back of the chair and wing – an unyielding, purposeful act that had her heart pounding as she was forced to lean back. She glanced at the powerful hand encompassing her wrist, tiny and fragile in comparison, before looking back into his eyes. They weren’t smiling anymore as he lifted her right hand to draw her inner elbow to his lips.

His tender kiss against her sensitive flesh made her stomach flip – a kiss that he brushed lingeringly down the length of her arm to her wrist. Her toes coiled against the wooden floor, one knee instinctively bending, her foot clamping the edge of the seat as he released her right hand again, pressed his hard body against hers.

Something in her, something dark and frightening, was responding to him, despite every ounce of common sense screaming at her that it was wrong.

He was goading her, letting her know he wasn’t afraid, letting her know he was in control, wanting her to fall. He was inciting her to act within her nature and against her better judgement.

And she knew he could turn on her at any moment if she did just that.

In that moment she believed herself capable of making him bite. The thought of it made her stomach clench – but not with fear. It was an unforgivable thought; the excitement she felt stirring abhorrent.

The ache in her chest became painful, the subsequent guilt from her stirring arousal oppressive. As his lips lingered less than an inch away, she breathed in the intoxicating scent of alcohol. Shivers swamped her. At that moment she wanted him to kiss her. She needed him to kiss her. Those vampire lips so enticing despite the lethality they concealed.

But it was an intimate contact he denied her.

She breathed heavily in shame and resentment. This was not about intimacy. This was about dominance. This was about control. This was a lesson about defying him. And he wanted to see her panic. He wanted to see her squirm. He was expecting her to try and fight him off.

This was a battle of wills. A game of dares. He was willing to take the risk and he was clearly laying down the challenge for her to also. And maybe she would have thought twice – the sensible and controlled Leila – if her anger and indignation hadn’t been so rife.

But, damn it, the feel of his cool skin against hers was dangerously alluring. The dark look in his eyes as he tempted her to fight him was enthralling. He clearly sensed her discomfort and the fact he liked it thrilled her again – all that dangerous potential he was holding back.

As he released the wrist that he had kissed to tuck her hair back behind her shoulder, expose her neck, she clenched her hands at the taunting glimpse of his incisors.

But she wouldn’t break. Caleb was not like him – the one who had grabbed her so viciously by the nape of her coat as a child, letting her small frame dangle five feet off the ground.

And the feelings he evoked were nothing like the feelings she’d had back then.

But as she felt Caleb’s soft lips against her vulnerable artery, she could barely breathe as she prepared herself for those hard, lethal incisors to pierce deep.

Instead, he licked her slowly and coaxingly up the length of her throat, his saliva cool against her heated skin
.
He ran his palm down her cleavage, running it along her ribs, directly beneath her breast, pulling the fabric down a little with the pressure as he lowered his mouth to the exposed mound of flesh.

Leila reluctantly arched into him, her free hand now gripping the arm of the chair as he unfastened the top buttons on her dress to tug the fabric down more, his mouth grazing her breast through the thin lace of her bra.

She gasped, hating herself for it. Hating the way her body betrayed her arousal to him so transparently.

He slid his tantalisingly lethal lips back to her neck, his hand coiling over hers on the arm of the chair, pinning it there. He shifted their positions, so as to get closer. Every muscle in her body tensed as she felt his hardness through his jeans, the pressure against the pulsations between her parted legs was almost too much to bear.

Letting him get that close was a mistake. Teetering at the pinnacle of the slippery slope, she needed to back away before momentum took her.

As the hardness of his incisors made contact with her flesh, memories hit her hard and fast – nothing but air beneath her feet; the vampire laughing before he bit; her mother’s blood still staining his mouth.

And the pain. The excruciating pain as he bit into her tender flesh.

She closed her eyes, nails scraping against the arm of the chair as she tried to calm herself, feeling herself crumble the way she had back then: the first time she’d known what pain was; the first time she’d known what helplessness felt like, and just how vicious the world could be.

‘Is that where he bit you?’ he asked, swapping to the other side. ‘Or was it here?’ He lightly nipped over her artery, making her flinch, before kissing along her jaw line, his lips then hovering less than an inch from hers again.

She caught her breath and held it as he took her right hand in his again, pinned both wrists together, held them above her head against the top of the chair. Forced to arch herself into him, his hard chest pressed against hers, reminding her of the strength behind it.

‘Did he restrain you while he bit you?’ he whispered against her ear. ‘Do you only associate it with bad things?’

Kissing her behind her ear, he bit her on the earlobe before easing her thighs further apart.

The rush was overwhelming, the need and desire to have him inside her overpowering. His body against hers no longer felt alien, the seductive coaxing in his eyes distracting her from her suppressed fear. The firmness of his hold, the feel of his hard, powerful body against hers, had her complying against her will. And she started to submit to him, not in words, but she knew her disloyal body was giving him all the right signals that she wasn’t going to fight him.

He’d stop. He’d have to stop. He wasn’t stupid enough to cross that line. He was expecting her to panic. He was expecting her to break first. He was expected her to plead with him to stop.

But despite the risk, there was no way she was backing down.

And as he reached between them to unfasten his jeans, her pulse almost flatlined with its intensity.

He’d pull back. He had to pull back. He couldn’t be
that
arrogant,
that
self-assured.