Last Vamp Standing (19 page)

Her heart banged against her rib cage. “What does it mean that he was right?”

Chapter Eighteen

B
OWING HIS HEAD,
Dante threw up his hand. “Enough.”

The voices didn’t listen, just went on mumbling their torturous tune:
Bring her to her knees . . . suck the innocence from her soul.

Dante’s eyelids were lead doors, heaving open, catching on the suppleness of her lower lip. He was tired of fighting, weary from blocking the constant hum in his head.

Although the tenor of the voices had changed the moment Ariana’s pleasure had peaked, they were still present, droning in his head and buzzing in his ears.

But the voices had behaved differently this time, hadn’t they?

Instead of increasing until his head threatened to explode off his neck, the voices eased. Quieted. Each demonic command became a bleep on his busy ass radar. It was white noise. Second fiddle to the soul-rattling sound of Ariana catching her breath. The voices were ever-present. Annoying. But they’d unclenched their steely grip.

Wait . . . Ariana had said something.

“I’ve got a shit ton of questions for Pike.” Dante scraped his finger over the dark tendril of a vine and watched in morbid wonder as it shrank away beneath his fingertip. He pinched his eyes shut, willing the voices to subside completely. “But I’d planned on paying your friend Echo a visit anyhow, so it’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

“Don’t worry about Echo.” Ariana bit her bottom lip, thinking. “I’ll take care of him.”

Take care of yourself. Fill her up, feed your soul.

“I wouldn’t waste your time.” Dante shook his head, more to shake out the thoughts than to answer her. “He doesn’t matter.”

Not when the voices were banging down his door, begging to come out and play.

“It really is remarkable . . .” She reached out to touch his side.

Something dark slithered through him, just beneath his skin, and he wrenched his body away. Rejection narrowing her eyes, Ariana covered her breasts, sat on the chaise, and dragged her dress over her legs.

He couldn’t bear to tell her he’d pulled away for her own good. When her breasts were pressed against him and she was cradled in his arms, he fought off the voices. Barely. But the instant he put space between them, the easier it was to breathe, to focus.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“No.”

It was better this way. With distance between them. Ariana didn’t know how close he was to losing control. How razor thin his level of restraint was.

This time may’ve been off target from all the other times he’d been with a woman, when he’d pleasured them for their sake alone, but he couldn’t chance Ariana getting hurt. He couldn’t chance taking things to the next level. No matter how damn much he wanted to sink into her, he couldn’t.

Frustration gnawed on his bones. He stood quickly, shoving his shirt over his head.

One look at Ariana sitting on the edge of the chaise, hair pulled back with soft tendrils framing her face, wearing a perplexed pout on her mouth, and Dante’s thoughts froze. He remembered all too easily where his mouth had been when her pleasure had peaked.

He licked his lips, savoring the sweet taste that still lingered on them.

Take more. More. More!

He stood and went elbows down on the balcony, pretending the streaks of pink and orange smearing their way across the horizon had captured his interest. Everything was tainted, wasn’t it? His soul, the connection between him and Ariana. Even the damned pristine blue sky got stained in the early morning light.

There was no avoiding it, he realized. No escaping his fate.

The voices clanging against his skull weren’t going to take five until he fed. There was no denying it and certainly no ignoring it—not when Ariana seemed glued to his side as of late. Things were only going to escalate from here if he couldn’t figure his shit out.

But it wasn’t like he could fight a member of Black Moon—they were elders for Satan’s sake! And he wasn’t about to bloody one of the unsuspecting vamps who just arrived.

There was another option . . . he could find a dame and slip back to his room, use her for her pleasure, fill up and jet out.

Even as the thought streamed through his mind, he knew he wouldn’t see it through.

It simply didn’t feel right. Not after what just happened between them.

What the hell was happening?
He didn’t have a claim to Ariana any more than she did to him. He didn’t owe her anything. Why did he feel like he’d be betraying her, soiling what they shared if he fed from another?

“I’m screwed,” he mumbled over the erratic pounding of his heart. “Screwed.”

Ariana was beside him before he realized it, wearing nothing but her black lace bra; she really was trying to kill him. Confidence, it seemed, was one thing Ariana had in spades.

She caressed his back softly, up and down, dancing her fingers along his spine. The loving gesture made him want to wrap his arm around her and hold on until morning light.

Until the murmur of voices blasted through his ears like a bullhorn.

Feed from her soul!

He pinched his eyes shut, trying to picture absolute, glorious nothing painted on the back of his lids. All he’d need is a few minutes to soothe things over, excuse himself and leave. No bridges would be burned between them. But the mental picture of her standing over him, hips rolling as she came against his mouth, rocketed back into his mind’s eye.

Take more! Coward!

“You know what you said earlier about not pulling from me?” Ariana leaned in close. The lingering scent of her arousal hit him like a sledgehammer. Dante’s eyes rolled back. His nostrils flared. She pushed out a deep breath and said, “What’d you mean?”

He was so. Fucking. Screwed.

There wasn’t any way in hell that he was telling her about this feeding method of choice. At least not until he found out if Watchers shared the same necessity. He had to rule out what he discovered in those books—had to rule out that he was an incubus.

She wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him if he was a demon. Who would?

How could he leave Ariana without making what happened between them take a bullet train to Awkwardville?

“This is going to come out sounding harsh,” Dante said, scrubbing his hands over his head. He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. The voices surged inside him, threatening to bubble over. “But please don’t touch me. Not now.”

She removed her hand like his back was on fire. “You’re gonna go back to the shut-down, pissed-off, masked crusading Dante you were before, huh?”

“I don’t wear a mask,” he forced out.

“You can tell me what’s going on with you, you know. I might be able to help.”

The voices ground low, too deep to decipher. Time was running out. “You can’t help me. You’re only going to make it worse.”

She paused, getting the beat on him. “Can you even look at me?”

“No.” He only raised his gaze enough to catch her hand planted on her hip. “I can’t. I’m—I’m sorry, Ariana. I’m hungrier than I thought. Can I—can I catch up with you later, after I’ve fed?”

“Do what you need to do.” Shadows slashed across her face as she turned and bent over the railing, showing him the round curve of her backside, the tiny round of her waist, and the smooth arch of her back. “But don’t count on me waiting around for you to come knocking. I may or may not be available when you finally decide what battle it is you’re fighting.”

Great.
She was pissed. Just what he needed. If Dante didn’t think he was going to lose control and hurt her, things would’ve been different. He would’ve stayed.

Who needs food when you’ve got a woman who stops your heart stone dead?

But the voices banged louder, vibrating the blood in his veins. No time. If he didn’t screw someone or bash someone’s brains in, a blackout was on the imminent horizon.

With a final glance at Ariana still leaning over the balcony, Dante let himself out. He strode down through the lobby and out the haven doors. And as soon as he hit grass, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

A
RIANA SHOWERED AND
dressed, going through the motions without giving them much thought. After she wiggled into a black corset and leather pants, she stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, wondering when she’d washed her hair and braided it down her back.

She couldn’t remember the tiny things that led to her standing here—had she really put on makeup? Peach lip gloss shined on her lips, black eye-liner circled her eyes, and blush tinted her cheeks. She couldn’t remember doing much of anything, exactly.

Thoughts of Dante swathed around her like sticky midnight fog. He was there, ever present, every step of the way.

As Ariana closed the wall leading to her balcony, she couldn’t help but focus on the chaise lounge. The cushion had flattened where she’d planted her heel, where she’d pushed off with all her weight to tilt her hips toward his mouth.

Although she hadn’t known Dante for more than a few days, she was starting to get a read on him. When his eyes were onyx and cool, he was one person—protective, mysterious, and . . . caring. But when his eyes were swirling gold like molten lava, he was another. During those moments, his muscles tensed, his jaw ticked, and his words were clipped.

If Ariana didn’t know better, she’d say he was fighting an urge. Like a vein junkie fighting a mundane binge.

She hadn’t seen him drink a drop of anything in days. She’d dropped blood past his lips when he’d been unconscious in the chamber, but it hadn’t been enough to sustain him as long as it had.

Was that why his eyes were fiery gold? Because he was starving? Then why didn’t he take from her vein? She’d offered it freely. She’d taken from him.

I didn’t fill up on you.

He didn’t drink from her at all. What was the reason for the surprised tone? What had he meant, and what was she missing?

She wasn’t about to sit in her room and stew over it. Her class was starting soon, and she wanted to drop by the library to grab that book he’d been reading. There was something in there that had caught his eye.

If Dante wanted to have a big-ass chip on his shoulder, keeping everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t get close to him, it was his prerogative. But she had one, too. She was going to figure out what was plaguing him on her own.

Ariana grabbed her coat and slipped it on, then shoved her cell into her back pocket. It didn’t take but two seconds waiting for the elevator for Ariana to glance at the camera. It winked its red eye once . . . twice . . . assuring her that she was never alone.

Someone was always watching.

The ding of the arriving elevator startled her more than it should’ve. She was jumpy, her nerves like live wires sparking beneath her skin. It was Savage and his death shades. Had to be.

Minus the rendezvous with Dante, her night had gone to hell in a hand basket. Between the therians in the black market, the fire in the Watchers’ compound, and the death shades, being on edge was the way she was going to have to live from here on out.

She rubbed the mark on her arm, wondering how it’d affect her astral-projecting. Each time she projected to the black market, the dots connected. The mark darkened. Though she didn’t know the dots were connecting into Black Moon’s emblem—and couldn’t explain it if she tried—it just solidified what she’d believed all along.

She was trapped here. Tied to this place.

She loved living in Black Moon. The grounds were gorgeous. Her room and view were spectacular. The people were friendly to the max. But she was alone.

It wouldn’t be such a horrible fate if there was someone here she could share things with. Someone who made her heart beat fast and stole the breath from her lungs. Someone who . . . didn’t look like he was going to clench into a solid rock when he got close to her.

When the elevator doors peeled back, Dylan was inside leaning over, adjusting her belt. Four large boxes were stacked beside her on a moving dolly.

“I’m sorry,” Ariana said, shielding her eyes. If Dylan wanted privacy, she shouldn’t be doing—whatever it was she was doing with her pants—in the elevator. “I can wait for the next one.”

“No, it’s these new Vamp Me jeans,” Dylan said, throwing off a downright irritated vibe. Dylan removed a dagger from her waistband and flipped it around in her palm. Crushed diamonds glittered from the silver hilt. “Slade gave me Mathilda a few months back, and with my old jeans she stayed in just fine. With these, she either scratches my stomach with her jewels or slides between my legs. Either way, she’s being more of a pain than a friend.”

As Ariana stepped into the elevator and the doors closed, she couldn’t help but smile, her nerves instantly eased. “Mathilda?”

Dylan blew curls out of her face and bent over, working the dagger around her side. “Yeah, Slade said I should name her. He said assassins name all their weapons so they bond. I wouldn’t know about our bond. I haven’t used her yet. But if she doesn’t stop scratching my stomach, she might end up bonding with a Dumpster.” She threw up her hands. Mathilda stayed put. “I think that’s better.”

When Dylan looked up, Ariana remarked how beautiful she was. Large chocolate-covered locks framed her face and bobbed past her shoulders. Bright blue eyes blinked sweetly, unjudging. Ariana wouldn’t have noticed her gently swelling baby bump if it weren’t for her shirt lifting in the front.

Two seconds with Dylan in the elevator and Ariana could understand why people flooded into ReVamp for support. Dylan exuded kindness and sincerity. It was written all over her face, in the way she was gazing at Ariana—really truly looking at her—as if she actually cared what Ariana had to say.

The elders looked at Ariana the same way, with a loving smile and bright, hopeful eyes, but there was something else in the way they sat before her, hands clasped in their laps, hanging on Ariana’s every word.

It felt a lot like expectation. What the hell they expected was her best guess.

“How are you finding Black Moon’s accommodations?” Ariana asked, watching the numbers on the elevator descend slowly. “Did our Primus get you all situated?”