Crave (5 page)

Callum had always thought Snow was the coldest of the two aristocrats but it turned out he was wrong. Snow was merely icy most nights and Antoine was glacial all of the time.

If that was what it meant to be an aristocrat, then Callum was fine with being only an elite. He would rather have some humanity and dirty blood than a heart of ice and pure gold in his veins.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table and frowned at the time. It was gone ten in the evening. The sun had set over two hours ago. She wasn’t coming.

Callum pulled down a silver-grey shirt and slipped his arms into it. He fastened it as he looked over the trousers he had brought with him and chose a pair of slacks a few shades darker than his shirt. He considered coupling it all with his black silk tie and then dismissed it and undid the first two buttons of his shirt.

His gaze wandered to the windows and the night beyond. He wasn’t sure what he would do if she didn’t show. His pride said to let it be and not go out to the clubs in search of her. There was no need to look desperate. So, last night had been explosive and wild, and had felt so bloody good. That didn’t mean he had to go chasing after her like an addict looking for another fix.

She was a werewolf.

That alone gave her reason not to show up, as did her reaction to him last night when he had wanted to bury his aching hungry cock in her again. A condom. He wasn’t sure if a vampire could get a werewolf pregnant, and he was fairly certain that such precautions probably hadn’t mattered at the time since he had already pumped his seed into her hot little body, but he was one hundred percent sure that the flip side to her reasoning was that he was a vampire.

Heaven forbid she let a vampire come in her.

What was she really afraid of? That someone would smell him on her, in her?

An image of the three built-like-brick-shithouses werewolves flashed across his mind.

Dread knotted his stomach.

He had been so fuzzy in the aftermath of his second coming that he had forgotten about the three men that he had taken her from. What if she was with them and they smelt him on her? What if she wasn’t with them? It didn’t matter either way. If those three werewolves, especially the large one who had come close to biting a neck that he had earmarked as his and his alone, had smelt him all over her last night when she had emerged from the booth, she would have been in serious trouble.

And he had just left her there.

Alone.

Callum cursed and punched the wall next to the window, slamming his fist hard into the plaster. Pain ricocheted up his arm and down his spine. He ground his teeth and growled. Fucking idiot.

How could he have left her like that?

He scrubbed a hand over his face. She probably wasn’t coming because those three werewolves had waited for her to dare to leave the booth and had attacked her because of what he had done to her. Devil, they might have her now.

His heart clenched and he was halfway to the door before he realised what he was doing. He didn’t stop when it dawned on him. He grabbed his black leather shoes, and his wallet off the side table, and kept walking. He would put his shoes on in the lift down to the lobby and would hail a taxi outside and head straight to the club. When he reached it, he would bloody well sprint inside and demand that the vampire bartender told him where Kristina had gone after he had left.

There was a soft knock at his door.

Callum froze with his hand on the knob and reached out with his senses. The scent of werewolf came back to him, delicate and female, holding a faint sweet undertone that he recognised as strawberries. He peered through the peephole and his heart stopped.

Kristina stood on the other side, her slender frame swamped in a long black mac and her soft brown waves twisted into a knot at the back of her head. Her lips were glossy and red, the source of the strawberry scent on her. The knowledge that she would taste as sweet as her scent filled him with a need to tear the door open and kiss her. He drew a slow breath instead, calmed himself and then opened the door.

Her luminous eyes met his and he realised for the first time they were a beautiful hazel colour. She blinked slowly, long dark lashes shuttering her eyes, and then looked up at him.

“Not going to invite me in?” she said with false lightness.

It was no use pretending that she wasn’t feeling on edge when he could sense the hint of fear spicing her blood.

Her smile faltered but held.

Callum resisted his need to pull her into his arms and smother her against his chest, to feel that she was safe and reassure himself that his eyes weren’t playing cruel tricks on him. He ignored the reasons that popped into his head and told himself he was only feeling this way because he felt guilty about leaving her alone at the club last night.

“Come in.” He stepped aside to allow her to enter.

Her hazel eyes widened so much he thought they would pop out of her head as she looked around the suite.

“This is amazing... they gave me the weirdest look downstairs when I asked where the presidential suite was.” She turned back to him and smiled but it wavered and died on her lips, a look close to despair replacing it. “God... I feel like some high class hooker.”

“They made you feel like a whore?” he growled and then cleared his throat and got hold of himself before he went down to reception and beat the crap out of them for it.

She smiled brightly. “No... they were surprised but nothing like that. I meant... coming here...”

The way she trailed off told him everything that she couldn’t.

Christ. Could he be any more of an idiot? Not only had he left her alone last night to fend for herself when he should have escorted her out of the club and back to her place, ensuring she reached it safely, but his request that she spend the week with him had made her feel like a prostitute. If the fact that she was a werewolf and he was a vampire wasn’t reason enough for this relationship to fail before it even started, then his behaviour was. He had treated her wrongly, had clearly left her feeling used and discarded, and practically commanded she come and fuck him for a week, and then forget it ever happened.

“Kristina,” he said in a soft voice and held his hand out to her. She remained in the middle of the area between the living room of the suite and the bedroom, her posture wary and the fear in her blood scent becoming something else, something worse. Hurt. She emitted the signals of a wounded creature.

Callum closed the door and crossed the room to her. He swept her into his arms and held her to his chest, one hand on the back of her head and his other arm wrapped around her shoulders. She sighed and he followed her, exhaling long and slow, searching for some solid ground when everything felt as though it was falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and she tensed and tried to break free of him.

The spark of panic was back and he thought he knew why. She had panicked last night when he had slowed things down between them. She feared taking things to that level, just as he did. He hadn’t meant to make love to her. He had wanted it rough and wild like their first time, but the moment he had entered her, an intense need to feel every inch of her and absorb how good she felt moulded against him, her body responding so delightfully to his every caress and kiss, had seized him and he hadn’t been strong enough to fight it. He smoothed the top of her hair, breathing slowly in an effort to convince her to do the same and relax.

“I royally fucked up last night. It shouldn’t have ended like that.” He caught her shoulders and drew her away from him.

She looked off to one side, towards the windows to her right, staring into the dark distance.

“It was what it was... let’s not complicate things.” Her eyes were dark when they met his, as cold and hard as steel. “It was just a bit of fun, right?”

She looked away again, gaze flitting over everything in the suite. Everything except him. It settled on the door.

“It was a mistake to come here. Last night was just a one time thing. This... I’m not strong enough to do this.” Kristina broke free of his grasp, ducked under his outstretched arm, and stormed towards the door.

He caught her before she could reach it, clamping his hand down hard on her wrist. She stilled, her back to him, her eyes on his hand.

“What do you think this is?” he said, a little harder than he had wanted it to come out, and she whirled to face him.

“I don’t know... but I know what you are,” her tone turned accusatory and ended on a snarl. “You’re just some aristocrat brat who thinks it would be great to have a werewolf at his beck and call for a week, fucking until he’s sore... a grand tale to take back to his friends at the end of a fancy holiday and laugh over... what a joke, huh? A stupid dumb werewolf bitch on a leash, at her master’s mercy, wagging her tale with joy whenever he chose to call her name and fuck her rabid. Well... it isn’t going to happen. Get your hands off me.”

She moved faster than he anticipated, knocking his hand aside before he could loosen his grip. His claws scraped over her flesh and he was so busy reeling from her verbal blows and the fact that they had triggered him to change that he didn’t realise what was happening until the door slammed.

Crimson stained under his nails. He had cut her.

“Kristina.” Callum curled his hand into a fist, pulled the door open and looked both ways along the hall. She was waiting for the lift far to his left, foot tapping as she clutched her wrist to her chest. “Kristina!”

She turned wild panicked eyes on him and pressed the call button again. Once, twice, and then incessantly as he approached. The lift doors pinged. Callum reached them before she could enter, blocking her path and spreading his arms across the open doors.

“It isn’t like that,” he said and her hazel gaze met his.

Her grip on her wrist tightened and the scent of blood reached him, almost knocking him on his backside. He had never smelt anything like her. Potent, powerful, it had his head spinning from just the scent. What would he feel like if he tasted it? Callum shook his head to clear it and focused on his current predicament. There would be no blood if he couldn’t make her see that she had got the wrong idea.

The doors behind him closed again and he relaxed.

“Why, because a vampire would never dare mention that he fucked a werewolf?” She practically spat the words at him.

He was starting to see why vampires had gone to war with werewolves several times in the past few centuries alone. He couldn’t say a single word without her turning it against him.

“No.” He kept his voice level, soothing, trying to decrease the elevated adrenaline in her blood.

The smell of it wasn’t helping him keep his head. He had to get her out of fight mode before the taut slender threads that held his urge to feed at bay snapped. He tried to touch her shoulder but she dipped it backwards out of his reach and glared at him. He sighed and lowered his hand to his side, resigning himself to not touching her even when he longed to hold her again and tell her that this had become more than just sex for him last night.

A couple rounded the end of the corridor and walked towards them. Humans.

“You know we can’t do this here. Come back to the suite. Let me fix your wrist, pour you a drink, and explain myself.”

She looked as though she would refuse and use the human couple as a shield so she could get on the lift without him daring to stop her.

Painful seconds ticked by, marked by the footsteps of the approaching humans.

Kristina nodded, placed her hands into the pockets of her coat so the couple didn’t see the blood on her wrist, and started walking back towards his room. Callum followed her, using the opportunity to get what he wanted to say straight in his head so he wouldn’t mess it up. He opened the door for her and waited for her to step inside before following and closing it behind him.

Kristina sat on the striped couch in the living area.

Callum went to the small bar at the end of the room near the dining table, turned two crystal whisky glasses right way up and filled them to halfway with whatever expensive bottle he blindly grabbed. He set one glass down in front of her on the polished wooden coffee table and clutched the other, pacing like a caged tiger, feeling more on edge than he had done in a long time. He cleared his throat, sniffed his drink and reconsidered it. Alcohol played havoc with vampires. What he really needed was a good swift shot of blood. He sat down beside her on the blue and gold couch. She didn’t look at him.

“Firstly, I’m not an aristocrat. I come from an elite family.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, her look unimpressed. It was the stupidest thing to open with but he didn’t want her thinking that he was some heartless pureblood. Surely she knew the difference between elite and aristocrat?

“I shouldn’t have left you last night. Hell, I should have been a gentleman and then you wouldn’t have come here feeling like you did. I can’t undo the past. I fucked up. I admit it. I should have taken you home, kissed you, tucked you in and made sure you were safe. The werewolves didn’t bother you did they?” He tilted his head so he could see into her eyes.

She lowered them further and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Christ... Kristina... they didn’t hurt you did they?”

Her expression turned to one of shock and her gaze leapt up to his. “What do you care if they did?”

“I care.” Callum risked brushing his knuckles down her cheek and held her gaze, his own steady and unwavering. “I’d kill the bastards if they laid one finger on you.”

Her eyes shot wide. “You would kill three strong members of a local pack? The rest would come after you. You’d probably trigger the next war between our species. Have you lost your mind?”

Callum smiled. “I think I have. Ever since that dance, I can’t think straight when you’re around me. I do the opposite of everything I know I should be doing. I think I should take you home and I leave you in the club alone instead. I think I should ask you if you’d like to spend some time with me and see how things go and I demand you come to my hotel and spend my final week in Paris in my bed.”