Crave the Night (30 page)

“
All right. Hold on.”

He dropped the phone and lifted the
cold iron banding her ankle. It was heavy and her flesh was dark,
nearing necrosis. A twist of the lock mechanism gave free. Too
easily. Rev decided the shackles hadn’t been designed
not
to be torn off, but more to
intimidate and steal her power.

He made quick work of the other three
shackles, tossing them to the floor. Bree didn’t stir at all from
the commotion. He picked up the phone.

Erte said, “If her skin is blackening the
iron must have entered her bloodstream. If you don’t get her ichor
flowing quickly, she’ll die.”

“
How do I do that?”

“
You high on dust, buddy?”

“
No. No, I’m clean right now. I can’t
think to get high with Bree like this. Help me, man! I don’t want
her to die. But I can’t touch her. I…I just can’t.”

“
Dude, you’re going to have to. Get
over yourself.”

“
It’s not something I can
control—"

“
You can if you love her as much as I
think you do. I heard you moaning her name the entire time you were
chained in the basement. You got it bad, buddy."

"I do. So how do I help her?"

"Unless you drink her ichor the dust should
be a mere nuisance. The craving will be a bitch, but which is more
valuable? Your high or Bree’s life?”

The elf wasn’t stupid. Nor was Rev. This was
all mental. Of course the dust was a mere facsimile of mainlined
ichor. It tingled and pricked at the craving, but it wasn’t the
master of his addiction.

He thought he had so much control? Now it
would be put to the test.

“
You’re right, I can do this. Bree’s
life is top priority. What do I do? A warm bath? Will that do
it?”

“
No,” the elf said, “don’t submerge
her in mortal water. It could be tainted with chemicals, which
includes iron. Strip off her clothes, then start massaging every
inch of her body. You’ve got to get the ichor flowing. Work slowly,
methodically, and not so hard you bruise her. And when she starts
to rouse, do her wings.”

“
Her wings?” Now Rev saw they were
exposed, crushed beneath her body. “They’re dry and so
lifeless.”

“
Her body first, then her wings,
vampire. Got that?”

“
Yes.”

“
You know about faeries and their
wings, right?”

“
Uh, they can fly?”

Erte chuckled. “You’ll learn soon enough
that touching a faery's wings is a sexual thing. That is, if you
can bring her back."

"But I'm afraid to touch her, man. The
dust."

"You got any oranges?"

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"Ancient secret of my ancestors—citric acid
on your skin. Rub some on, let it dry. Repels the dust, at least
until the juice rubs off. Now stop talking to me, and get to it,
man. I’ll come after you myself if you let Bree die.”

Rev clicked off and tossed the phone. It
clattered onto the floor. He tugged off his coat and crossed the
room to close the door, heartbeats frantically hammering his ribs.
He beelined to the fridge and let out a, "Thank you, Herne," when
he saw the oranges. Taking all three, he found a knife in a drawer
and cut them in half.

This was all his fault. He should have dealt
with Fernando and been more intent on tracking the blood sport
warehouses. Now the wolves were using Bree to retaliate against
him. This wasn’t her fight.

He hated that her involvement with him had
led to this.

Oranges in hand, he stopped before the bed
and exhaled. Fingers working in and out of tight fists, he growled
in frustration. Tilting his head side to side loosened his tense
muscles as he prepped for his greatest challenge yet. He worked the
juice into his exposed skin on hands and face.

“
Chill out, Rev. Focus. It’s up to
you. You can do this. And you won’t get high in the
process."

Maybe. The elf didn't know everything. How
long would the orange juice last? And what if it only worked on
elves? Too much skin contact with dust would eventually work its
way into his system, and then? Watch out.

But Bree was worth another plunge into
oblivion.

"Massage?” He looked at his big, calloused
hands, dripping with juice. The touch of her skin had communicated
with his very soul when he'd been imprisoned in the warehouse. Even
swimming in the depths of addiction, he’d used that memory. It had
spoken to him.

And it had killed him.

If he took too much dust into his flesh
would he lose focus and bite her?

“
She has no dust right now,” he
muttered. “Her ichor is turning solid.”

And even if there was a little dust, it was
poisoned by iron. It wouldn’t have the same effect on him. He had
to count on that being true. He wasn't her Intended by mistake.
They were meant for one another, and he wouldn't let her down.

He stripped the dress from her body, taking
care at the back, though the neckline swept under her fragile
wings. He didn’t want to touch them for fear of tearing the
parchment-like webbing.

Bowing over her, he kissed her forehead and
smoothed away the hair from her cheeks. “I love you, Bree. It
shouldn’t have come to this. Hell, we're the worst thing for one
another. And the best. I’ll make it right.”

Hands shaking as he held them over her bare
body, he decided to start over her heart. Wouldn’t that be the most
important area to get the ichor flowing? Softly he stroked her
skin, cringing at the coolness of it. As if lifeless. Damn those
wolves. He'd rip the heads from each and every—

No. He had to focus on Bree. Anger wouldn't
make his touch gentle. He kneaded over her heart and under her
breast, not too hard, as Erte had cautioned. The air sweetened with
the smell of oranges and his nervous anxiety. After minutes he felt
Bree's flesh warm beneath his touch. He couldn’t be sure if it was
merely from contact with his skin or if his motions were affecting
the flow of her ichor.

He continued over her shoulders and down her
arms. Every portion of her flesh was lifeless, so cold. And yet,
the shimmy of dust came to his palms now and one of her fingers
moved.

“
Bree?”

No reply. He quickened his efforts, working
methodically down her other arm and then rubbing down her torso and
belly. The juice, warmed by their contact, worked like massage oil,
and made his movements slick and smooth. He kissed her stomach,
testing the warmth of her skin. Faint, but yes, he did sense she
was warming. Rising from a darkness he wished she had never had to
experience.

Down each leg he worked, massaging gently
around her feet and ankles and her slender thighs. That he'd never
had the fortitude to resist her dust, and instead make love to her,
killed him now. They should have been lovers. He should have
indulged in her body and passion instead of feeding his greedy
hunger. He kissed her toes, each one of them, making it a blessing
he prayed she could accept.

Bree moaned. Her fingers trembled.

“
Good girl,” he whispered.

An hour passed. He feared rubbing her skin
dry and abrading it, but it did not grow rough, only warmer and
moist with the subtle oils from his skin and the oranges.

“
I love you, Bree. Damn it, you’re the
best thing that’s ever happened to me. Come back to me, and I
promise I’ll never bite you again. I can do that. I will do
that.”

The moon had risen in the sky, and it bathed
her pale skin and revealed her gorgeous sparkle. His palms, now dry
of the last drops of juice he'd forced from the orange rinds,
sparkled with dust, and they tingled, but he resisted the urge to
lick them clean.

Don't need that danger.
You need her alive, those bright violet eyes smiling up at
you
.

Easy enough to resist the temptation when
the promise of Bree's smile waited. He lifted her limp body to hug
to his chest, her head wobbling against his shoulder. Drawing his
palms down her back he worked slowly along her spine, testing each
knobby bone until he touched the base of her wings.

Save her wings for last.
You’ll learn soon enough, vampire
.

Erte had said something about it being
sexual. So had Bree. Yes, he recalled a few times when he'd taken a
faery for the dust and she'd begged him to touch her wings. He
never had, because then the dust had been all that he'd craved.

He tucked his head into her hair and kissed
the tip of her ear.

“
Rev,” she whispered.
"Oranges?"

“
Don’t speak. Your ichor stopped
flowing from iron poison. You’re getting better. Let me touch you
everywhere.”

“
My arms…cold.”

He moved his gently massaging grasp along
her arm. Dust had permeated his skin and entered his bloodstream.
He was getting a contact high now that the juice had dissipated.
That meant the iron must be purging from her system. Great for her;
not so good for him.

Focus, Rev. It’s all
about her. You’ve endured worse. Let it ride through you. Use
it
.

Use it? Hmm… The sensations the dust
produced lightened his body and made him think he could fly. It
softened his strokes and made them longer, more sweeping.

Bree moaned appreciatively. He must be doing
something right.

She curled up a leg and snuggled closer to
him. That she was moving and making sounds meant his clumsy touches
were actually improving her condition.

He stroked his lips across her temple. Warm
there. Sweet, like flower-stormed meadows. Her fingers clung to his
shirt, pulling, grasping for strength.

She tilted her head to meet his mouth and he
brushed his lips across hers like wings softly dusting the air. He
touched her breathy gasp and moved away, and touched again. The
teasing appeal of it redirected his intentions. He stroked a hand,
exploring the base of her wings.

“
They’re so dry,” he murmured. “Roll
onto your stomach and let me see if I can bring them to
life.”

She coiled onto her side and violet eyes
flashed up at his. “Do you know what you’re doing, vampire?”

“
No. But if it restores the sparkle to
your eyes, it’ll be worth discovering, eh?”

She smiled. “Sparkle. Mm, yes.”

Kissing her mouth, longer this time, tasting
her weakness yet, he then straddled her hips and glided his fingers
along the delicate architecture of her wings. Pale violet and blue,
they were scaled like a butterfly’s wings, and yet, the slightest
breath from him moved through the gossamer fabric of them and they
appeared liquid.

Seeing his breath warmed the color brighter
on her wings, Rev bent and hushed an exhale across her wing,
following with a careful trace of his forefinger. Touching lightly
he broke contact, but never for more than a microsecond.

Bree curled her fingers into the pillow and
murmured in satisfaction. It reminded him of a woman in the throes
of passion, but that couldn't be right. She was still so weak.

He'd never give up on her.

To trace the many striations of color moving
beneath his breaths fascinated him. And there, around the edges of
the violet and blue wings, they glowed red.

To touch her, a slight tickle from his
smallest finger, stirred her spine to arch. Wings curled backward
and the fine filaments edging the curves tickled his cheek as if a
kiss. He was dazzled by the sensation.

Spanning his hand out across a brilliant
violet wing, he then laid his head between them and drew in the
delicious scent of Bree. Captivating. Free. Decadent. Wondrous.

"Mine," he whispered. "I want you to be
mine. I don't deserve you, though. What can I do to deserve
you?"

“
Rev,” she sighed deeply, and followed
with a desirous moan. “Yes.”

And he realized his touch aroused her as if
she were going to climax.

“
This turns you on?”

“
Touching my wings… It’s the most
intimate touch of all. We can bond. You've never touched a faery's
wings when you…?”

“
No. I've only bitten your kind.
Really? This feels good?”

“
Oh, Rev, that’s amazing. Don't
stop.”

“
What about the iron poisoning? You’re
weak yet.”

“
My ichor flows freely now. You
massaged all the iron away. I’m weak, but your touch makes me
stronger. You make me want… Need. Oh…”

Sitting upright in a languorous glide, Bree
slowly tugged Rev's shirt off and unbuttoned his jeans. She wanted
him desperately, be damned the dangers. He'd brought her back to
life, now she wanted to give him a life beyond addiction to
dust.

Spreading out her wings behind her, she bent
to tickle her tongue down his chin, his neck, over the hard ridges
of his chest and down the slope of his abdomen. Pushing him back
across the bed, she mounted him and teased her tongue from hip to
hip, then dashed lower and slicked along the length of his shaft.
Solid, rigid and heavy in her hands, she slid up and played the
head of his erection against her moist folds.

Rev groaned and clutched the sheets. When he
met her gaze, she saw something in them she wanted to know forever.
Trust. And love.

"Yes," he murmured desperately. "Put me
inside you."

She swept forward a wing and stroked it
along his cheek and he nuzzled into the sheer fabric of it. She
could feel his heart beats in that touch, and in the pulse of his
hard shaft begging for entrance. They belonged to one another, for
good or for ill.