Hunter's Salvation (27 page)

On his way out of the bathroom, he grabbed one of the hand towels and scrubbed at his face.

“Vax—”

He stopped in his tracks, staring down at the faded blue carpet. She slid her hands around his waist. This time he didn't pull away. He wanted to turn around and bury his face in her hair, breathing in the clean, soft scent of her. Maybe it would overpower the scent of blood.

He didn't, though. He just stood there, stiff and still, as she murmured, “Are you okay?”

Even to his own ears, his laugh sounded hollow. “Okay? I just felt his pleasure as he killed a woman. She was practically a kid. So young. Had these big, innocent eyes. He raped her. He eviscerated her. And you want to know if I'm okay.” Savagely, he pulled away. A couple of feet separated them when he turned around to glare at her. “I can see her face. I can hear her screams. And I can't stop myself from thinking, if I fuck up again, the next woman he murders is going to be you. But, hell. Yeah. I'm fine. Wonderful.”

She took a step closer, and he held up a hand. “Stay away from me now, Jess. Just stay away.”

She didn't. She took another step, and another, until she could reach out and link her fingers with his. Her palm pressed against his, and she lifted his hand, kissing the back of it. “This isn't your fault. You didn't make him what he is. You don't control the actions of others. Not his. And not mine.”

Before he could say anything else, she rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. She slid her other hand around his neck, tugging him closer.

He didn't kiss her back. Jess didn't know how to respond to that, but she couldn't just pull away and leave him alone. Even if that was what he wanted, it wasn't what he needed.

Leaning her head back, she murmured again, “It's not your fault.” She slid her hands down his chest, hooking her fingers in his belt loops and pulling him closer. His body felt cool. Too cool. She laid a hand against his chest, and the speed of his heart rate didn't make her feel any better. It was slamming away. With her hand lying over his heart, she looked up at him. His pupils were huge—they were so dilated, she could only see a thin rim of silvery gray around them.

Shock, maybe?
She knew that seeing somebody die was a traumatic experience. Feeling somebody die? Been there, done that. Shock didn't even touch it. She cupped his cheek in her hand. “Vax…”

His hand was still cool when he reached up and closed it around her wrist. She could feel her pulse racing under his touch. Just that light touch…She tried to tug her wrist away, but he held on, lifting it to his lips. He pressed his mouth to the inside. Then he let go. “You don't want to touch me, Jess.”

He turned away. For a second, she stood there, staring at the rich, vibrant colors that made up the feather tattoos on his back. Then she reached out and touched him. He stiffened, and then he spun around. Her breath left her lungs in a rush as he hauled her against him. His mouth came down on hers with bruising force, his tongue pushing past her lips, into her mouth.

He kissed as though he were trying to devour her. There was a desperation in every stroke, and it wasn't long before Jess felt that same desperation. She arched against him with a moan and reached up, burying her hands in the black silk of his hair. She felt a harsh jerk, and there was a sound of ripping cloth. Cool air kissed her flesh as the scraps of her shirt fell to the floor. Vax's mouth left hers as he wrapped his hands around her waist. He boosted her up and closed his mouth around one distended nipple.

Jess groaned and tried to move closer. She couldn't get any closer unless she crawled inside him. That didn't keep her from trying. Jess wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked against him. There, separated by his jeans and her panties, she could feel the thick, throbbing length of his sex. He ripped away her panties and pushed two fingers inside her. Her head fell back. Through her lashes, she stared at the ceiling and struggled to breathe.

His head lifted, and she felt the strands of his hair caressing her flesh. “Look at me.” The deep bass rumble of his voice made her shiver. But she didn't want to look at him. Even though she had her legs wrapped around him and she could feel the pulsations of his cock between her thighs, she couldn't look at him. It made her feel too exposed.

He slowed the rhythm of his fingers until he was just barely touching her. “Look at me,” he whispered again.

Slowly she looked down at him. His eyes stared into hers, his mouth in a grim, unsmiling line. The room spun around them, and she shivered as he pressed her back up against a wall. “I told you that you didn't want to touch me,” Vax muttered as he reached between them. The rasp of his zipper sounded unnaturally loud.

Hungry to feel him against her, she rocked her hips forward and he met her action with one of his own. One hand cupped around the back of her neck, drawing her closer. He didn't try to kiss her, though. His eyes stared into hers, and she could feel the warm brush of his breath against her face. She tried once more to close her eyes, but the hand at her neck tightened. “Open your eyes. I want to watch you.”

Pillow talk wasn't her thing. Watching her lover wasn't her thing. Staring into his eyes as he pumped into her did weird things to her insides. She felt hot, hungry, needy, shaky—and melting. She felt like she could melt against him.

“You're so soft.” His lids drooped, turning his penetrating stare into a hooded, sexy gaze. “You're one dangerous woman, Jessica Warren.” He bent his head and ran his tongue over her bottom lip; then he caught it between his teeth and tugged gently. “I don't like what you do to my head.”

He pushed inside her, hot and throbbing. The entire time, he stared into her gaze. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. He could drown, staring into that gaze. He heard her breath hitch in her throat. Smiling a little, he rotated against her. The muscles in her sex grabbed at his cock, squeezing and caressing his flesh.

“Vax…” He bent his head as she moaned, catching the rest of the sound in his mouth. She tasted sweet, clean, and real—so alive. He needed that—needed to feel her and know she was alive and safe.

The dirty, ugly blood dreams had left him feeling stained, and he couldn't get enough of her. Every touch, every shared moan fanned the heat inside him, and the horror of death faded away just a little more. Until the blood and the screams and the death were no longer real to him. All that mattered was Jess, feeling her body move against his, listening to the soft screams.

“Come for me,” he muttered. He canted her hips up and shifted so that he hit the stiff little peak of her clit. One stroke and she was arching up, pressing her breasts against him. Two strokes and she gave a breathless little scream. By the third, she was thrashing against him and shuddering her way through orgasm. The pulsating caress of her sex tightened around his cock, squeezing him closer and closer. Vax crushed his mouth to hers as he came.

“Whoa.”

Slowly, he lowered her to the floor. They leaned against each other and stared. Finally Vax whispered, “I'm sorry.”

Jess reached up and touched her fingers to his mouth. “Why? I'm not.”

“We talked about this yesterday—you didn't want it.”

She cuddled against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I did want it. I just don't like being ignored after.”

Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her hair. It was soft and smelled of something feminine and faintly tropical. “You're not that easy to ignore, darlin'. I don't think I'll try that tactic again.” He needed to hold her. Just hold her. He picked her up and carried her over to the bed. He braced his back against the headboard nailed to the wall. “So I don't need to apologize?”

Jess shook her head. “I'd rather you not.”

 

H
E
felt drunk. Almost euphoric. For a mortal, she had packed one hell of a punch. William hadn't fed on her blood, but he could only imagine the kick such rich, ripe young blood would give. It was little wonder that vampires preferred their prey to be so young.

It was more of a wonder that William had waited so long to discover this unique pleasure. He stumbled into the wall as he turned the corner. Snickering a little, he managed to make it the rest of the way to his rooms without any more crashes. He opened the door and closed it behind him. He lurched towards his bedroom without turning on the lights.

Replete and tired, he had one goal in mind.

His bed.

William didn't make it out of the living room, though. Thomas's quiet voice stopped him just a few feet inside. “What were you thinking?”

“Thom?” William turned around but lost his balance. He fell into the wall and his head was spinning so rapidly, he just stayed there, letting the wall support his weight. He flicked on the light and stared into the dimly lit room. Thomas sat in the huge leather armchair by the door. He held a snifter of brandy in his hand, and as he lifted it to his lips, he stared at William.

“You reek of blood. Did you enjoy yourself?”

A foolish grin curved William's mouth, and he said, “I did, thanks. She screamed, Thom. Oh, she screamed.” He closed his eyes, playing back the moments in his head and relishing each second.

“Yes. I know. Tell me, Will, have you gone mad?”

William didn't hear Thomas move. When the blow came from behind, it came with a speed and strength that sent William crashing to the floor. Like a bucket of icy water, the blow cleared his head. His eyes narrowed, and he stared up at Thomas.

Thomas crouched down in front of him and murmured, “Yes. She screamed. She screamed so loudly that the neighbors heard. They called the cops. Did you hear the sirens as you left? Or were you too drunk on her blood?”

William thought back, tried to remember. No. It had taken a few minutes to hear anything or even see anything. The adrenaline rush was all-consuming. So he hadn't heard the police. Unable to recall, he said, “No. I didn't hear anybody coming.” Then he shrugged. “What the hell does it matter? Nobody saw me.”

“They saw your victim.” Thomas shook his head. “You stupid arse. I had thought that you had more sense than this. At the very least, the bloody mess you left behind is going to call too much attention. We do not need some bastard from the Council showing up practically on our doorstep to investigate some mysterious brutal murder.” His pale brown eyes narrowed, and he reached out. William pulled back, but the vampire was stronger. Thomas hauled William toward him and whispered, “But worse, you risked exposing us all. Exposure now could cost me years of work. If that happens, I will slowly gut you.”

William pulled back, and Thomas let him go. Shoving to his feet, he stared at Thomas. His emotions warred between outrage and fear. At least, he thought it was fear. William didn't remember fear very well. He was familiar with trepidation, but this disgusting fear couldn't be tolerated. “Don't threaten me, Thomas.”

Thomas's voice was a silky menace. “Oh, my dear friend, I am not threatening you. Just warning you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. “I have so many more things I want to explore. So many theories. One of them concerns sensory overload.” The syringe was a fat one—it looked like one that would be used to give an injection to a horse. It was filled with a murky yellowish fluid. “This is the chemical we harvest from the witches. Actually, it's a synthetic one. I've been trying to develop this for some time now—finally succeeded. This is highly concentrated. Do you remember your transition? You started showing effects within days, and you were in miserable pain from the moment we started the dose. Well,
this
dose is more than a hundred times more powerful.”

William stared at the syringe. For some odd reason, the sight of it filled him with dread. He started to shake. “I've already done the transition, Thom. I know all about it, remember?”

Thomas answered with a curious little humming sound. “You know all about it from
your
standpoint. What you don't seem to see is that this transition has affected your thinking. Until now, I hadn't realized just how much. I do not know whether there is too much power inside your body, or whether you haven't learned to control it appropriately. Of course, if you had listened to my advice and sought out training, perhaps we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

Thomas tossed the syringe up into the air and caught it. He twirled it around in his fingers and stared at William with a smile. “I have this theory, my friend. It's possible to overload the senses. Magick is just another sense, after all. A highly refined, highly trained sense. But a sense nonetheless. And this theory of mine…well, you need just the right amount of the chemical to induce transition. Too little, and there is no change. Too much, and it will drive the patient insane, if he survives the transition. A massive bolus of the chemical, I believe, might induce a stroke.”

William tore his gaze away from the syringe and looked at Thomas. He could remember how it had burned when Thomas had slid the needle under his skin and pushed the chemical into William's bloodstream. It had felt as though he were being shot up with a combination of acid, broken glass, and liquid fire—even more painful than the first time he had shifted.