A Hunger Like No Other (16 page)

Why did that comment cut to the bone? “You wouldn't lie about this?”

“Rest easy. I want you, but no' for that.” He rose. “Now, unless you want to finish this evening properly with me bending you over the bed, you need to get dressed.”

With a gasp, she immediately turned on her heel for the bathroom, then locked the door behind her. She pressed her back and palms against it, body quivering, his blood still affecting her.

She frowned. The paint on the door was glossy and cool, smooth but for the left middle panel. Paint had bubbled there.
Fascinating.

When she ran the shower and tested the temperature, the water felt incredible on her hand, tickling her palm. Naked in the water was even better—it was as if she could perceive each tiny drop sluicing down her body. Running her fingers through her wet hair felt lovely. She realized she had energy again.

Clearly, Lachlain's blood was a cocktail full of Ritalin and Prozac. She should be awash in regret over her transgression and unnerved about the future, yet she couldn't seem to muster either. She assured herself it was the pharmaceutical aspects of his blood that brought about this sense of well-being—not the unfamiliar feeling of connection she'd delighted in as she drank.

After the shower, she dried off, making a note to commend the inn for the impossibly soft towels. As she wrapped one around her, it grazed over her nipples. She shivered and flushed, remembering his mouth so hot over her breast.

Shaking her head hard as if to dislodge the memory, she padded in front of the mirror, reaching her forearm forward to wipe the condensation from the cool glass.

I want you, but no' for that,
he'd said, and now as she peered at herself she wondered
why
he wanted her. She tried to imagine how he saw her.

She thought she might be . . . she might be
pretty,
now that her color was back and any curves she'd had to begin with had returned—as he'd so rudely pointed out. But it was all relative, wasn't it? She might be pretty, until she stood next to any female in her family. They were fatales, temptresses. By comparison, Emma was . . . cute.

But they weren't here, and if Lachlain thought she was attractive when she wore conservative clothing and braids in her hair, what would he think when she dressed as she usually did?

She felt nearly liberated, now that he'd convinced her she wasn't his mate, even as part of her wished she was so beautiful he would regret that fact . . . .

She chose her favorite short skirt and strappy heels, and once she'd dried her hair, she left it free again, curling down. If the wind blew it back and someone did see her ears, she didn't doubt Lachlain would think of something to say or do. In fact, he seemed to like that they pointed. Feeling bold, she even wore
earrings.

When she exited downstairs to meet him at the car, he gaped at her appearance. She knew she looked as shocked as he did.

Because Lachlain was driving.

He shot out of the car to rush around and toss her in. She supposed she must have flashed a glimpse of her panties in the melee because he growled low, before glancing around to see if anyone else had seen.

When he returned, he slammed his door shut, rocking the car. “What game do you play at, lass?”

She stared at him, speechless.

“You dress like this, when I can barely keep my hands from you now?”

She shook her head. “Lachlain, this is how I usually dress. And you scoff at the idea of me as your mate, so I should be safe.”

“But I'm still a male. Who's been long without a woman.”

Her heart sank. That's why he found her attractive—because he'd been so long without. He'd probably find a
perfumed rock appealing at this point. “Then let me go. If you can drive, then you have no need for me and you can set about finding a woman who's interested in you that way.”

“You agreed to stay with me till the next full moon.”

“I'll only be cramping your style. And I'm sure there are lots of females out there who would like to be with you.”

“And you doona count yourself among that number? Even after tonight?”

She nibbled her lip, recalling how she'd licked his tan, smooth skin as she'd taken his exquisite blood, and briefly lost her train of thought. “I just don't understand why you want me to stay,” she finally managed to say. “You needed a driver. You no longer do.”

“No, I can drive, but I want two other things from you.”

She sighed and moved to sit with her back against the car door. When she crossed her legs, he stared at them as though enthralled. She snapped her fingers in front of him. “Let's hear them.”

With a growl, he tore his gaze away and met her eyes. “I want you to go to Kinevane so I can settle our debt and reward you for your help. It was hard on you to drive, and now I ken your hunger made it worse than I thought.”

“Reward me how?” She was suspicious and didn't bother hiding it.

“Money or gold. Or gems. I've been collecting jewels my entire life.”

He emphasized the last words, catching her eyes, but she didn't know why.

“You can have your pick.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You'd give me some antique jewelry, like out of a gold-filled treasure chest?”

“Aye, exactly.” He nodded in all seriousness. “Priceless jewels. As many as you can wear.”

“And they'd be
mine
?” Would she finally
own
something irreplaceable? “So I'd have mementos from my jaunt with a real-live,
certifiable”
—she cast him a too-pleasant smile when she said the word, but he didn't get it—“Lykae?” She doubted her aunts could top that escapade.

“Aye,
yours
. Though I doubt you'd classify them as ‘mementos.' ”

She shook her head. “This is all a moot point. If you've been gone for a hundred and fifty years, then you won't have a castle with a treasure, no matter how cool it sounds.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lachlain, have you ever heard of a Wal-Mart? No? Something like that is probably on top of your castle right now.”

He frowned, then said, “No, no' possible. Kinevane is the source of our kind and is protected from the outside. No threat has ever penetrated its walls. Even the vampires canna find it.” His tone held more than a hint of smugness. “Nothing is
atop
it now, I promise you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Say you're correct and I get to make my score. Males who give jewelry expect sex.”

“That's the second thing.” His voice went low and he cupped the side of her face. “I'll be getting you into my bed.”

Emma's witty retort? A dropped jaw.

“I-I can't believe you just put that out on the table,” she eventually sputtered, ducking away from his hand until he dropped it. “Obviously, now that I know your agenda, I'm not continuing on with you.”

“I see.” He gave her a solemn expression. “You must have a verra real fear that I can succeed.”

She shot him an impatient glare. “Hey, there are your hands—let me play right into them.”

After a moment, the corners of his lips quirked at her comment. “But it's true. If you're confident I will no' succeed, then my ‘agenda' is nothing more than an idle musing.”

“So the game becomes, who gets what they want first.”

“I suppose you could say that. Do you think you can reach your goal before I start enjoying you?”

She stifled a gasp and crossed her arms over her chest. For all he'd put her through, he owed her recompense. She'd earned every piece of jewelry she would separate him from! “You know what? I'm going to agree to continue. Mainly because I know you won't let me out of my promise anyway. But I'm also going to clean out your stash. And don't say I didn't warn you.”

He leaned forward, far too close for comfort, putting his face directly beside hers to say in a low voice, “And I'm going to have your legs wrapped around me and your cries in my ear before the week is out. Count yourself warned as well.”

She jerked away from him, her cheeks heating as she groped for a reply. “Then . . . then let's see your prowess with driving!”

He drew away from her slowly, only taking his eyes from her face for a last look at her legs, then put the car in gear. As he pulled out onto the street, she prepared herself to be amused, strapping her seat belt in place, waiting for him to screw up.

But—of course—he drove perfectly.

He was always analyzing everything she did—why would she think he hadn't been watching her drive? “When did you learn how?” Her question was sharp.

“Practiced in the parking lot when you showered. Doona worry, I could see the entrance at all times.”

“I'd told you I would not leave.”

“That's no' why I was watching. You look annoyed about this. If you want to drive . . . ?”

“It usually takes people longer to learn.”

“It usually takes
humans
longer to learn.” He patted her knee, making the gesture patronizing. “Remember, I'm preternaturally strong and intelligent.”

He slid his hand higher and got it slapped away. “And preternaturally arrogant.”

*  *  *

When Lachlain had seen her tonight outside the hotel, looking curvy in a sinfully short skirt, with her hair shining and full, his heart had hammered in his chest for her. He'd seen her sexy little shoes and imagined the heels digging into his back when she wrapped her legs around him. Her eyes were bright, her skin glowing.

He was stunned to realize that even the moon had never held his gaze so completely.

And she was staying with him by choice, lured by jewelry.
Which was already hers.

He'd spent his entire life acquiring the pieces in anticipation of giving them to her, never having imagined a mate quite like her.

As Lachlain drove down the roadway, he felt optimistic for the first time since his capture some fifteen decades ago. No matter what had happened, he'd escaped his enemies and could go about building his life again. With Emmaline—who wasn't the killer he'd thought her. Who was unique among all the many vampires he'd encountered in his long life.

She was unique among all the females he'd ever seen.

He couldn't decide if she was fey or a siren in appearance. Her wrists, finely wrought hands, and collarbone appeared fragile, the pale column of her neck so delicate. Her face was ethereal, exquisite. In other places, especially now that she'd fed, she was all woman with her generous, sensitive breasts and soft hips.

And she had an arse that made him hiss “mercy” under his breath.

He glanced down at his arm, smirking slowly at her wee fang marks, disbelieving his reaction to her bite. Knowing his beliefs and aware of how sick others would find it, he reasoned he must be depraved—because he'd reveled in it.

It was as if she'd opened up a new sexual venue that he had never imagined. As if all there'd ever been was straight fucking, and then out of the blue, Emma had said,
What if I lick and suck your shaft into my mouth.
He shuddered, his erection pulsing.

Though it should be a mark of shame to be hidden, he found he liked to look at her bite because it reminded him of this foreign, secret pleasure—and that she'd never drunk from another. Only to him had she delivered that dark kiss.

He wondered who had taught her not to. Her family? Were they truly Forbearers, different from the rest of the vampires, forced to live in Louisiana because they were split from the Horde? He didn't see answers forthcoming. She was the most tight-lipped female he'd ever encountered, and after his blunt questioning debacle in the restaurant, he planned to refrain for a while.

But he was her first and would be her only, and that made him proud. He fantasized about the next time she would drink. He'd get her to take from his neck, freeing both of his
hands so he could pull aside her lacy undergarments and finger her wetness. Once she was ready for him, he'd work her down his length . . . .

He stifled another shudder, then turned to ask her for the tenth time if she was thirsty yet, but he saw her curled up in the seat, looking soft and relaxed under his coat. He'd spread it over her, partly because he thought it would make her more comfortable and partly because it made
him
more comfortable not to see flashes of her thighs. She leaned her head against the window, staring out with that thing attached to her ears, and didn't seem to realize that she sang softly. He didn't want to interrupt her. Her voice was beautiful, lulling.

She'd said she did nothing well, which meant she didn't believe she sang well, since she couldn't have lied. He wondered why she wasn't more confident in herself. She was lovely, her mind was sharp, and deep down she had fire. No, not
too
deep down. She had, after all, dislocated his jaw—at the first opportunity.

Perhaps her vampire family had found her too sensitive or introspective and had been cruel to her. That thought made fury fire in him, made him relish the idea of killing anyone who'd treated her ill.

Lachlain was aware of what was happening. He was siding with her, beginning to consider all things in terms of
them.
Somehow the bonding with his mate had begun with a bite.

*  *  *

How much longer till we get there?
Emma was tempted to whine.

Now that she had some energy again, she was getting restless in the car. At least, she told herself that was why she'd begun squirming in the seat.
Not
because she'd melted
under his coat, still warm from his body and surrounding her with his delicious scent.

She stretched, pulling out her earbuds, which apparently in Lykae was code for “Interrogate me,” because the questions, they came a-calling.