Clarity (The Admiral's Elite Book 3) (6 page)

Unusually avoiding diffusion, Ryan escalated the situation. “From what I’ve been hearing you’re not dialing much back either there, Mike. Sounds an awful lot like you’re giving her everything you’ve got, whenever you can.”

Michael’s roar nearly drowned out the sound of fist hitting flesh and Ryan’s nose exploded in a bloody spray. More thuds and cracks as Ryan fought back and the remains of the table were lost as Michael landed on it, collapsing with the broken boards to the ground.

Adrenaline gave her what she needed to finally bring her pathetic body to her feet. Recklessly she shoved herself between the two just as Michael came back to face off again. One hand on each chest, Becca glared at Michael. “Enough, Michael.”

His vampire nature had not yet completely taken hold or there would have been no reasoning with him. The only time she’d been near him when he’d let loose, she’d been unconscious and he’d been protecting her from a demon, but Ryan told her that when Michael went primal, you didn’t talk. You held still and hoped he didn’t notice you. Much like the wolves at the full moon. Thankfully, both men were merely blinded by testosterone, not their more base natures. The altered face regarding her sent a shiver down her spine, yet she remained firm. “Michael,” she softened her voice, waiting to see reason return to his black eyes. “I’m fine. It was me, not him. Ryan didn’t do anything wrong. I stumbled. That’s all.”

After what felt like forever, Michael blinked. Becca watched blue bleed back into his irises and was able to breathe only after he gave another slow blink and she recognized the man she loved as being back in control. Moving slowly, he removed her hand from his chest and turned her palm up. Breaking eye contact to study her palm, he brushed it lightly with a cool finger. Becca glanced down to see, biting her lip when she did. She must have fallen harder than she thought; blood soaked his shirt and was slowly pooling in her now cupped hand. A minor twitch of her other hand and she felt it slide over Ryan’s skin. Fearing removing it might land her flat on her bottom and set off another explosion between the two men, she stayed put.

Gently, Michael lowered his face and a longer lock of hair fell forward to hide his features. Becca wasn’t sure exactly what he was intending until she felt something cool brush her abraded flesh. Inhaling sharply at the sensation, she exhaled shakily, watching the hair on the back of Michael’s head slide forward like black silk. When he released her hand she blinked stupidly at it. It was healed. Wordless, he held out his hand for her other and she gave it to him, bracing herself on her own two shaking legs, praying she wouldn’t fall.

When he’d finished with her hands, Michael bent to scoop her up and place her delicately on the one bench that had ensured its survival by skittering over to the far side of the fireplace.

Becca’s eyes never strayed from Michael, noting the sudden and complete lack of tension in his features. As if he could flip a switch. She was envious.

He knelt before her on one knee, one foot on the ground to form a flat surface. Again, incredibly careful and without speaking, he lifted one of her feet. Resting her shoe flat on his raised thigh, he hooked his thumbs under the edge of her running pants. The rustle of the fabric sliding up her leg was the only sound, other than Becca’s shaky breathing. Their eyes met and something passed behind his
.
Reverenc
e
was the word Becca couldn’t help thinking before he broke off and lowered his mouth to her tenderized kneecap. Her feelings of inadequacy in the face of such adoration were brief. The immediate sting of initial contact was followed by the careful, pleasantly numbing flicks of his tongue, only this time the sensation seemed to flow up her leg, directly to somewhere far more sensitive than a kneecap.

Heart thudding in her chest, she felt her body melt. Forgotten was the fact that, moments ago, Michael had been within inches of flaying their friend alive on her behalf. Sensation became her master. With every caress of his tongue, Michael steadily brought her body under his control. Finished, he lowered one foot then went on to the other, shifting so that he knelt between her legs.

Excruciatingly slow, he raised the hem to expose her injury. The blood had begun to cake and the fabric stuck, tearing as it was pulled free. Becca gasped and Michael’s eyes locked on hers. What she saw made her catch her breath. Entirely in his thrall, she watched as his tongue, streaked pink with her blood, reached for her wound. It should have been gross or at least clinical, but the way he touched her, spoke to her through his fingers and tongue, she could hardly think. Becca could feel her pulse between her legs, unable to stop the little sound of frustration that slipped through her lips as he continued his ministrations.

When he was done his hand glided up her calf, working in reverse to lower her foot from his leg to the floor. Then, easing forward, Michael set his hands on either side of her body, leaning in to kiss her. Just as slow, just as deliberate as he’d healed her cuts, he licked at her lips until she opened for him. As he kissed her, Becca’s sense of self evaporated. Actions became reactions, the last vestiges of control she’d held of her thoughts and body were no longer hers, but his. Had he asked her to take off her clothes she would have done it, more than willing. She was only dimly aware when he rose and kissed her one last time before leaving. Breathing heavily, Becca gradually came back to herself and found she was alone.

Concern for Ryan and his injuries hit her with a physical force and she briefly thought of going to offer him help. Only he wouldn’t need or even want her help after whatever portion he might have witnessed of that little floorshow. Michael couldn’t have claimed her as his any clearer had he taken a brand to her. Thank God he had stopped at making out, she sure hadn’t kept a clear enough mind. Hell, she probably would have stripped and screwed his brains out right there on the floor if he’d asked. That image in her head instantly doused her arousal in an icy shower of shame.

When had she gotten so weak? Where was the ice queen she was once reputed to be? Was this inability to control her animal urges another side effect of the “blood crash” as she was calling the withdrawal she was suffering? She was really going to have to tell someone soon. Her heart told her she should confide in Michael. He had experience with this sort of thing, he even knew a bit about her witch heritage and how that mixed up with vampire blood ingestion. Except she couldn’t tell him. What Michael knew, Black knew. And if Black thought she was damaged it would be a death sentence. For either of them. Her for failing, him for defending her as she knew he would.

Ashamed and confused she let her head fall forward, resting her arms on her thighs, sagging forward until her head was nearly level with her knees. “What am I doing?” she muttered under her breath.

Chapter 4

“Sir.”

“Sit down, Michael.” Black gestured to the black chair opposite his desk. Very few individuals crossed the threshold into the admiral’s office. One knew when he was in there that it was foreign territory, it was darkened in the same manner as the entire lower of the estate for his sensitive eyesight. Even for a vampire he was unusually photosensitive. This place was for his comfort, not guests.

Familiar with this routine, Michael closed the heavy wooden door and eased into the leather although he was far from relaxed. Becca’s response to him in the kitchen was disturbing. The Becca he knew would have reamed him for what he’d done to her friend. Loyalty was everything to her. That she gave Ryan not a second’s thought and was clearly ready to let Michael have his way with her right there while Ryan could have watched them was downright bizarre. Thankfully Ryan, having read the situation right, backed out once Becca took her hand off the wolf’s chest.

I want her
,
his vampire demanded.

Sensation and hunger; that was all the damned thing was ever concerned with. An
d
him
,
he was no better. He’d been tempted to drag her off to his room and give her what the look in her eyes told him she wanted so desperately. He too felt that desire. Tasting her blood so soon after his protective instincts were awakened brought him to the edge of his self-control. The man who ruled him was ashamed at his other nature, as well as the bit of his anatomy in full agreement with that plan. Sex should have been the last thing on his mind with her survival in question. He’d felt the way her arms shook, watched her pale as she struggled to get up. Fangs vibrated in his gums. Ryan could have killed her
.
H
e
could have killed Ryan.

Michael ground his teeth. For once he was grateful Black had summoned him. The “call” came just in time. For as much as he hated the power of Admiral Black’s hold over him, it was the only thing strong enough to pull him away from Becca’s side when he was unable to do it himself. Ryan was right. Michael had been demanding too much of Becca physically. Though not drinking her blood, he was still taking from her. It was his fault she was weakening
.
Humans are fragile
.
The familiar mantra whispered through his mind.

No
,
his vampire screamed as it felt him make his decision.

“Whenever you’re ready, Michael.” Black did not sound amused or patient.

“I apologize, Sir.” Michael straightened in his chair. He waited. The admiral would speak when he wanted to.

Black studied him, his black eyes distinct against his buttermilk white skin. Michael thought of the women who would have paid for flesh that pale and perfect. Maybe not now in the age of bronze is beautiful, but there was a time. A memory flared and Michael saw a woman from his human years, her body bared to him, red lips parted as she spoke his name.

“Are you hungry, Michael?” Something other than anger lay behind Black’s irritation. Concern?

Michael heard the sound of liquid being poured and smelled the iron as it filled the air. He accepted the glass that appeared on the mahogany desk in front of him. “I guess I am.”

His mentor and master took his seat behind the desk and stared at Michael, unblinking. Even after half a century the fact that the man didn’t blink unless he was in a mood was unnerving. “You are unsettled, Michael.” He tipped his head, white hair resembling duck fuzz in the dim light. “Why is that? Is it Rebecca? Or perhaps Captain Hallbeck?”

How did he know everything? Michael had the same sense enhancements that came with the whole undead/reanimated thing, and yet he couldn’t hold a candle to the damned admiral. It had to be an age thing or maybe something to do with his lineage. Either way, it was creepy and it sucked. “I take it you’re referring to the incident upstairs?”

“Our natures incline us toward certain tempers, and urges.” Black’s voice remained deceptively calm. “Our kind is predisposed toward decadence, wanting things to excess.”

Michael knew him too well; he could sense the violence rising below the surface. Shifting in his seat, he prepared for what he sensed was coming.

Blink.

Oh shit.

“However, this is not Rome. I know, I was there.” Black seemed to grow in his seat, though his body didn’t so much as flinch. “We must hold ourselves to a certain standard, Michael. Self-control is vital for those in positions such as ours. We are all that stands between order and chaos, and although some of those in seats of power do not agree, we must continue to keep that order or humankind will be reduced to nothing more than prey.” Pausing, he inhaled deeply to speak again. “You have proven yourself an effective leader and unparalleled strategist, Michael. You have outshone any others I have taken on in the past. Think carefully before you let a woman destroy all that we have built.”

Michael recognized the rare opening Black was offering; a side none of the others ever saw in their leader. Still a ruthless bastard, yes, but also a mentor with untold years’ experience, willing to share his wisdom if only Michael reached out and asked. He took a breath to speak.

“When I saw Becca fall I might have overreacted. However, I felt Captain Hallbeck needed a reminder that sh
e
i
s
a human and that h
e
shoul
d
treat her accordingly. It must have been my hunger. I see that now. I apologize.” He didn’t bother with any of the typical body language humans displayed to show guilt or penitence. No longer a human, it wasn’t natural or expected, nor did it play with the admiral. He cared little for acts of contriteness.