Undying Desire (13 page)

“Seth. Don’t make me wait.” Her voice wrapped itself around his throat like a noose. Instinct had him reaching up and clawing at the unseen stricture choking his neck. Seth roared.

“Get off me!” He twisted and leaped into the air toward her, fangs and claws bared. She shrieked and threw her arms up in defense. He landed on top, straddling her flailing body. Animal against animal. Beast versus beast, they fought for dominance. She was a much older vampire, but he was a male, stronger and faster. And his submission had been by choice, not force.

“You want a taste of my blood, slave?” Her nails dug into the sides of his face. The searing pain only drove him harder. “Want to hurt me?” she growled.

He couldn’t think past the vicious need to feel her flesh under his claws, drink from her throat. Pain. The desire to inflict or receive it had blurred in his mind. At this point, he didn’t care anymore.

The room spun, and suddenly Seth faced the ceiling. “No!” he cried out, arched his spine, and rolled. He straddled her hips, pinning her arms to the mattress, and…she laughed. Fucking laughed. Air sawed from his chest.

“I love it,” she purred and licked the traces of blood from her lips. “Haven’t had a good fight in years.” Doors at his left and right swung open with a
crash
, and a pair of her personal bodyguards blurred inside. Seth jerked at the same moment a set of silver manacles slammed onto his wrists with a loud click. His flesh sizzled under the weight and toxic effect of the metal. He bit back a groan.

A cool palm stroked his blood-slicked cheek. “Aww, my sweet Seth. You are such a delight. Almost as entertaining as…” Her coy expression morphed into an icy stare. The guards yanked his naked body back by his shoulders, allowing her to rise from the bed. She pivoted and tossed her blond tresses from her shoulders before leaning over and fisting a handful of his dark strands. As much as he hated to admit it, the sting went straight to his balls. How messed up was that? “Just imagine the fun we’ll have tonight with your punishment.”

Chapter Twelve

Just how far was Guerin prepared to go with Eve?

How much should he—or could he—reveal?

She really was Kenric’s daughter. He had no doubt. Not after everything he’d witnessed. How would Kenric feel when he learned he’d already slept with her? Guerin’s head spun with the implications. He stifled a groan, watching her watching him. Waiting for him to spill his guts about what he was doing there, why he was searching for her.

Fucking her.

Eve was so damn beautiful. He dug his nails into the soft pine.

Damp midnight locks hung halfway down her back as her pale-blue gaze raked him where he stood. His cock throbbed from the relentless hard-on she’d left him with. God, the things she did to him. The things he
wanted
her to do to him. Shouldn’t that be wrong? She was his best friend’s daughter…

But nothing had ever felt so good and so right.

I’m so screwed.

Guerin released his hold on the doorjamb and strode toward her. He eased onto the side of the bed, Eve at the foot, their backs to each other. Maybe what he had to say would be easier if he didn’t have to look into her eyes? Because something told him Eve had no idea her mother was dead. She seemed more like a woman trying to survive than one seeking vengeance for her mother’s murder.

“Talk to me, Guerin. Why were you looking for me?” As if sensing he needed the distance to speak, she didn’t move.

“I heard about you from…someone who knew your mother back in the States.”

“What do you know about my mother?”

Wait for it. Don’t tell her more than she needs to know…yet.
Guerin had to play this very carefully, filling in the blanks as they went along. At this point, instinct said she wasn’t a sadistic bitch like her mother, but he hadn’t spent enough time with her to know for sure. He had no idea how much she knew about Kenric, the Enclave, or her mother’s current state. Nor did he know how she’d react when she learned who he was, and the role he’d played in her dear mother’s demise. She’d either thank him, hate him, kill him—or all three.

But ten bucks said the latter would be her favored approach.

“She was Marguerite Devonshire. Correct?”

“Unbelievable…”

“So you don’t deny it?”

As if she’d never heard the question, Eve babbled on. “My worthless father left us before I was born and tried to erase us from his memory. Not that it meant
Mother
ever forget about him. I’m all she has. She wouldn’t risk letting my existence get out to someone other than her closet circle of allies. And she’d left most of them behind when she went to America searching for my father again.” A guttural sound of frustration left her.

And there it was. The information Guerin had been waiting for. Marguerite had lied to her all these years. She believed Kenric knew about her and had abandoned them. His fingers curled into tight fists on top of his thighs.
Shit, shit, shit.

“Who was it she told?” The tone turned urgent.

After a deep breath, Guerin added, “The male had been a trusted lover of hers. I wouldn’t have believed it, but I didn’t see a motive for him to lie.”

The bed rocked, and he looked up. Eve was on her feet, standing in front of him. “She will kill him for betraying her.” As with her father, anger transformed her tropical-blue irises into a brilliant display of fire and ice. “He gave you his head when he divulged this information. Why would he tell you and risk forfeiting his life? What did you have on him?”

“Nothing.”

She scoffed. “Try again.”

He sighed and dropped his gaze back to his hands.

“Wait. You’ve referred to her twice in the past tense. What aren’t you telling me?”

The match had been lit, and the fuse burned on the TNT between them. Nothing he could do now other than let it blow. He braced himself and continued. “My informer wasn’t worried about your mother’s retaliation, because …” Guerin glanced up.

“Because what?” Eve braced her hands on her hips.

“Marguerite is dead.”

Her hands fell away from the gentle curves of her body, and the fire vanished from her gaze as if doused by the flood of tears welling in her eyes. Eve blinked, as if fighting their mere presence.

“You don’t know this for sure,” she stated matter-of-factly, her voice tight.

“It’s true.”

“You don’t know that!” Eve lunged forward, slamming her palms into his chest and rocking him back. Guerin latched onto her wrists and steadied her, locking his gaze with hers.

“It’s true,” he whispered.

“Stop saying that,” she snapped with added venom, but the choked sound to her voice gave away her pain. Eve jerked, trying to free herself from his hold, but Guerin clamped down on his grip. “Let me go!”

“No.”

“No?” She yanked again.

“No.”

Eve straightened, nailing him with what had to be her best intimidating glare. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“The man who just told you your mother is dead, and the one who’s going to fucking hold you for as long as you need me to.”

“You son of a—”

Whatever else she’d been on the verge of saying lodged in her throat as if her mind had suddenly registered what he’d meant. A solitary tear crested and trailed unchecked down her cheek.
Oh, hell.
At that moment, he’d give his life to take away the pain in her eyes. Her knees wobbled.

“Come here.” He made the request, but she didn’t move. And it took every last drop of patience he could muster not to drag her into him by force. But Eve was not a damsel in distress who needed a hero to save her.

Not that she’d admit, anyway.

This would have to be on her terms.

She swallowed, then chewed her lower lip.

“Come here.” He lifted his arms, still holding on to hers. “Please…” She fell into his chest, her body trembling. Guerin wrapped himself around her, wishing like hell his body would act as a sponge and wick the sorrow from her heart. He smoothed a palm over her dark tresses. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into her hair.

She grieves for Marguerite
.

The concept of someone actually
not
wanting Marguerite dead rolled around inside his head like an oversize pinball going nowhere. It didn’t fit. Yet to Eve, the evil bitch had apparently been the only person she had in the world.

That was about to change.

More than his next breath, he wanted to tell her she’d never have to be alone. His jaw ached under the restraint. She had a father who Guerin knew without a shadow of a doubt would want her in his life.
Shit.
He
wanted her in his life.

What?
He gave his brain a mental shake.
Back it up.

He couldn’t believe the thought had even crossed his mind. Guerin Lombardi didn’t do relationships. Besides, how the hell would that work? She was Kenric’s daughter, for Christ’s sake. The man was going to fucking hate him for keeping her a secret for two seconds, much less for the last five weeks. Add the fact that he’d slept with her in the process of hunting her down to possibly kill her…

Oh yeah. Prizewinning son-in-law material there.

Eve squirmed under his tight hold, then shoved out of his arms and spun, giving him her back. “Sorry,” she mumbled, quickly swiping her fingers over her cheeks, removing the evidence of her tears.

“I’m not.”

Her spine straightened, and she went perfectly still.

“You needed someone, and I’m glad I was here.”

“I don’t
need
anyone,” she gritted out through clenched teeth, marched toward the end of the bed, and snatched up the towel she’d used to dry her hair.

“Bullshit.”

She snapped her head in his direction. “Fuck you!” she spit back.

“Anytime.”

The white terry cloth fluttered to the floor at the same moment Eve sped around the mattress. A blur of pale flesh told him her palm was up and headed straight for the right side of his face. Guerin leaped to his feet and snagged her wrist midair, bringing her swing to a halt. She hissed, fangs bared.

“We’re not fucking…yet,” he deadpanned. “So no hitting allowed, beautiful.”

“Damn you.” She growled, curled her fingers into a fist, and yanked her arm free before retreating a few steps. Eve edged toward the other side of the room, her gaze never straying far from his. Her fingertips grazed the sheets along the way. Guerin followed her progress. Their stance was opposing, but her stare didn’t quite touch his eyes. It fell somewhere behind him, unfocused.

“I’ve sensed that something was wrong for a while now,” she began. “I just didn’t want to admit what the feeling meant.” Eve lowered her gaze and placed her hand to her chest, absently rubbing a lazy circle. “There’s been this…empty ache behind my breastbone that wouldn’t go away,” she whispered. “It’s like I’ve been grieving, but I didn’t know why or who, for weeks now.” Her fingers curled into her towel, bunching the fabric. She shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe it was my mother.” She lifted her eyelids. “But deep down, I already knew,” she added hoarsely.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss.” Her pain touched him more than he expected, and for hurting her, he
was
sorry. But he’d never apologize for being a part of removing Marguerite from the world of the living. An uneasy silence fell between them. He grabbed his sweats from the floor, waiting for what was coming next.

“A part of me doesn’t want to go here, but I don’t think I can live not knowing.”

Guerin braced himself.
Don’t ask me this. Don’t ask me…

“How did she die, Guerin?”

“Does that really matter?”

“Yes, it matters,” she bit out. “She was my mother, and I want to know what happened to her. I deserve to know.”

Damn, damn, damn
. Guerin studied the gray article of clothing in his hands. As a creature of the night, he’d lived teetering on the line between truth and deception for three centuries. So why the hell did he find it so damn hard to lie to the woman standing on the other side of the bed?

“What do you know about her death? Please, Guerino…tell me what you can.”

The sound of her plea tugged his head up. The lost look in her eyes plucked at every guilty fiber in his being, slowly unraveling him. He swallowed against the hard lump closing up his throat. Eve was right. She did deserve the truth. Yet he couldn’t tell her he’d played a part in taking Marguerite down. With the current skewed version of who and what her mother was impregnated in her mind, there was no fucking way she would understand. At some point, he would tell her the whole story. But not now.

“All I can tell you is that there was a big battle: Marguerite and her minions, against a small group of vampires called the Enclave.” That much was true.

“The Enclave…” The name fell from her lips as if she were testing the feel of the words. A warm sensation spread through Guerin’s chest as she caressed the name on her tongue. Surprise filled him at how much he wished he could open up, and she’d embrace his reality. Then the expression on Eve’s face turned dark, chilling his veins. “That was the name of the group Mother once said Kenric St. James had formed—my father. Oh my God…” Eve speared her fingers through her hair. “He killed her!” She shook her head.

“How do you know he was the one who did it?” The conversation had taken a turn down a slippery slope toward hell.

“Oh, please,” she replied. “It’s his Enclave. Whether he drove the stake in himself or not, doesn’t matter. He’s hated her for as long as I can remember. Mother always said he never wanted either of us.”

“Why? I don’t understand why you think he hated you both so much.”

“Kenric resented the hell out of my mother for creating him and conceiving me. Even though by siring him, she’d saved his life. He’d been a warrior even back in his time. My mother rescued him from the field and turned him before he died from his battle wounds. Yet she told me that he always hated being a vampire.”

“So he left your mother before you were born, and you never knew him.”