A Wicked Hunger (Creatures of Darkness 1) (4 page)

Her vision wavered.

“Damn, you’re out of it.” Mace helped her sit up.

He cinched one arm under her legs, the other around her back,
then carried her from the crash site, laying her back down a few yards away.

Kneeling next to her, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and tapped Trent’s name under his contacts. The line rang once, and then Trent
answered, “You miss me already?”

“We have a problem.”

Trent went silent and waited for him to continue.

“Someone just side-swiped us off the road, a black SUV, tinted windows.”

“License plate?”

“I didn’t get a chance to write it
down while I was death-rolling,” Mace snapped.

“Alright, untwist your panties. Is the girl okay?”

He glanced down at Cora. Her face was locked in a grimace, and blood gushed from her head wound. The sweet scent of it had his fangs descending; a purely unintentional, primal response.

“She’s alive
, for now.”

Cora’s eyes shot wide, and he cursed her inherent fear of his kind. The way her voice had sounded when she’d told him she didn’t want to die made him realize she’d assumed that was why he had returned to the car. Not to help her, but to end her.

“I need to get her somewhere safe,” he said, loud enough for her benefit. “Our attackers could be doubling back to check their work.”

“I can have someone there in twenty minutes?”

“Not soon enough.”

The roar of a motorcycle drew his gaze. The biker slowed and eased off the road toward them, looking concerned.
Blessed good Samaritans.

“Besides, my ride just showed up. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up.

“You guys need help?” The biker zeroed in on Cora’s wound. “I have some EMT training.” He dropped the kickstand with his foot and lumbered off the bike.

“Thanks, man.” Mace locked eyes with him. “
But I’ll be taking the bike.”

The compulsion went to work instantly. The biker’s pupils expanded, eating away the brown of his irises. “Okay.”

“You’ll walk to the nearest town and call a cab to get you where you’re going. After four days, you’ll report the bike stolen, not before.”

“Okay,”
the biker repeated. As soon as Mason released his stare, he strolled away.

Mace turned back to Cora and lifted her off the ground.

She made a sound of complaint, pressing the heel of her palm against her head.

He settled her on the bike’s seat, making certain she wasn’t about to fall over. She glanced at the vehicle nervously.

He slipped in front of her. The engine still rumbled softly. He knew by its make that it was a fast piece of machinery, but he would take it a bit slower with Cora on the back.

“Put your arms around me and hold on tight.”

She hesitated.

He pulled her arms around his torso. The act caused her chest to press up against his back.
He called back, “If I feel your grip loosen, I’ll cuff ‘em together, understand?”

“I-I don’t know how long I can hold on. Also, I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be doing all the work. Hold on for as long as you can. Keep talking if you have to.”

He
heeled up the kickstand and eased the bike forward. Cora tensed, as he figured she would. Her grip around his torso became vice-like, and her legs squeezed his hips. Any other time, he would have enjoyed the way she clung to him. Who was he kidding? He still enjoyed it.

Instead of heading north, he crossed the median and went south. As he picked up speed, Cora buried her head in his back. Then he kicked it into high-gear, and she let out a squeal.

Soon enough, St. Stamsworth was several miles behind them. The setting sun sent shadows stretching across the road. Mace exited the highway, deciding it might be safer to maneuver through the back roads from now on. Now that he’d had a moment to think, he had to assume that the driver of the black SUV had somehow known he and Cora would be traveling the highway at that time. The bastard had appeared from nowhere—most definitely hadn’t been following them the whole way—which meant there was an informant.

Mace turned onto a gravely road and eased off the gas a little. Here, a bit of green was fighting strong, creeping up from the black rocky ground along the roadside. A few spora
dic trees sported buds along lucky branches.

Cora’s
grip loosened a bit. “How are you doing back there?” He yelled over the din of the wind.

She made no response.

He turned the wheel and coasted into a wooded area, not stopping till he was far enough from the road that no one would see what he was about to do.

He
toed down the kickstand and twisted around to look at Cora. Her eyes drooped, and blood coated her head all the way down her right side. He feared the damage she’d sustained was more significant than he’d originally concluded. Head wounds were tricky like that. He hoped he hadn’t waited too long to heal her with his blood, but he’d had to find a safe spot first.

He looped her arm around his neck and pulled her from the bike. Her body was limp, and she wasn’t staring at anything in particular. A black cloud of dread moved to the forefront of his mind.

“Cora?”

She mumbled something he couldn’t decipher.

He set her down, letting her lie back against the dried ground. A soft moan left her lips. Her features scrunched painfully. Then her eyelids cracked open; her pupils were pinpricks, unseeing. She was already deep in shock.

He lifted his wrist to his mouth and sank his fangs into the flesh. Then he moved his now bleeding wrist to her lips, allowing his blood to drizzle into her mouth. She flinched. With a languid touch, she tried to push his arm away.

After a moment, her vision seemed to clear and she met his gaze. Realization flashed over her. Fear replaced her previously zombified expression. She began to struggle, pushing harder against his arm and shoving her feet on the ground to move her body back.

Quelling the attempt to get away was akin to holding a bunny
rabbit in place. The weight of his body pressed her into the soft turf. He reached up with his free hand and gripped the hair at her nape in his fist, tilting her head back to open her mouth wider. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut, clenching her teeth.

“You have to drink it,” he said. “It will heal you. I can’t risk taking you to a hospital.”

She made a noise of complaint, her eyes angry and boring into his. That look chased away his dread. Better angry than dead. But when she turned pleading, his heart squeezed.

“This will heal you, not turn you,” he explained. “Drink it. I won’t let you up until I’m satisfied you’ve had enough.” When she still didn’t open her mouth, he threatened, “I can stay here all night.” H
e tightened his grip on her nape.

She let out a whimper as her lips parted. He shoved his wrist between her teeth and felt the sting of her bite. And though she’d done it
out of spite, the effect was a substantial amount of his blood gushing into her mouth. By reflex, she swallowed and then began to cough, trying to hack it back up.

“Don’t you dare spit that out!” he growled.

She stilled. Then after a moment of trembling hesitation, she swallowed more of his blood, only gagging a couple more times.

“There’s a girl.” He removed his wrist from her mouth, stifling a grin at the red marks
on his skin that matched the pattern of her teeth.

Cora glared up at Mason, but exhaustion stole the memory of why she was so angry with him. Her head lolled, and she was confused by the sharp scent of dirt.

“I’m so tired,” she heard herself say.

“I know, sweetheart. Give me a little time to set us up with a room for the night. There’s a motel about a mile back.”

Her vision dimmed. Mason said something else, but she didn’t hear it. When she opened her eyes again, the sky had morphed into a white, splotchy ceiling. A tiny lamp in the corner of the room gave off a soft glow. Mace hovered over her, fumbling with the belt of her coat. Automatically, her hands flew out to slap him away.

He paused, but didn’t move from his position at the edge of the bed. “I drew you a bath. You look like you’re straight from a massacre.”

Using her elbows, she pushed to sit up. It took more effort than it should have.

The
motel room was small, with only one bed. She’d consider that little nugget later. Her hand went to her forehead, which still throbbed.

“It’s healing, but it needs to be cleaned,” he informed her.

Healing? Her mind zeroed in on the word. “You forced me to drink your blood!”

“I did. And you don’t have to sound so disgusted. It’s considered a privilege among my kind.”

“How dare you—”

“I already told you, if there had been any other way, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“When did you tell me that?”

“When you were cussing me out all the way here.”

She tilted her head. She didn’t remember doing that. She wouldn’t have the nerve to do that.

He knelt before her and began undoing her coat belt again.

“Stop it!”

“The water is getting cold.” Foregoing the belt, he reached for her left foot and started undoing the ties that ran the length of the boot. His actions were clipped, and he seemed irritated with her.

Oh, goddess! What had she said to him in her stupor? It suddenly registered that she had a very strong, very unpredictable vampire on her hands…and he was undressing her.

In a demure tone, she said, “I can do that myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” he replied, slipping her boot off and setting it aside. Then he started in on the second one. Soon it joined the other on the floor. When he reached for her belt once more, she cringed away from him. He stilled, but only long enough to send her a look that said she wouldn’t win this battle.

She forced herself to calm.

He noted her capitulation and then resumed undoing the strap.

Her coat fell open, and a fiery blush entered her cheeks.
Damn this outfit!

Without a word, he stood and held his hand out to her. She debated the probability of talking her way out of this. It wasn’t good. Hesitantly, she slipped her hand in his, and he helped her to her feet. In the next instant, her coat plopped on the ground.

Standing now in her expensive lingerie, she kept as still as possible, focusing on the floor. Mace paused for only a second before he went to work on the rest of her garments. The micro mini fluttered to join her coat. Desperately, she wrapped her arms around herself, protecting the partly see through bustier that barely covered her breasts.

Mace let out a deep sound. She couldn’t decide if it was a growl or a groan. Neither would bode well for her.

“Alright. I suppose you can keep the rest on, if you’re so inclined.” Again, he held his hand out for her, then led her into the bathroom. The tub was filled nearly to the top. Steam skimmed the surface.

“I don’t need your help for this,” she insisted.

“That cut is in an awkward place,” he said. “You can’t clean it properly by yourself. Besides, I owe this to you.”

She dared a quizzical glance at him.

“I promised you would come to no harm, and that promise was broken not fifteen minutes later.” His features contorted into an angry mask, but swiftly melted back toward repentance. “Please let me care for you.”

Figuring he would only persist in carrying out whatever he planned no matter her protests, she dipped one foot into the warm water, then the other, and sank down. The material of her outfit clung to her skin, but she was grateful for the small amount of
modesty it offered.

A tingling sensation permeated over her skin. On the counter sat an opened container of bath salts and other products, one of which was probably responsible for the bouquet of floral-mint in the air.

Had Mace hat time to stop by a store? How long had she been unconscious?

Sitting on the wide, flat edge of the tub was an array of items: soap, shampoo, tweezers, a plastic cup, and a sponge.

Was she really about to get a sponge bath from a vampire?

The concept was irreconcilable in her mind.

He dipped the cup into the water. “Tilt your head back,” he commanded gently.

When she did, he
drizzled the water over her forehead. There was a tiny sting, probably from where the liquid met her wound. He dampened the sponge next, running it over her face with an almost feather touch. Then he reached for the tweezers. She went tense.

“It’s for the glass,” he said. “My blood in your system has already sped the healing process. I need to remove any glass or your skin will heal over it.”

She relaxed a bit—well, as much as one could relax while being half-naked and bleeding in front of a vamp. She was the picture of a tasty meal to one such as he.