The Last True Vampire (17 page)

Her scent drove him mad, the thought of once again sinking his fangs into the tender flesh of her throat sending him past reason. On the second-story landing Michael paused before he rushed down the stairs and headed in the direction of that tantalizing scent.

“Claire.”

She stood at the front door, one hand frozen on the brass knob. The sheets of her hair cascaded down one shoulder and spilled over her bare arm, wheat on a snowy field. Her cheeks were flushed with blood, her lips dark pink and inviting. Michael shook the remnants of his dream from his mind, as well as the desire that surged within him, hardening his cock to the point of near pain. Gods, he wanted her, wanted to bury himself so deep inside of her that he no longer knew where his body ended and hers began.

“What are you doing?” Panic infused his tone as he pushed his palm against the still-closed door. Did she think to leave him? “I told you what would happen if you thought to walk out that door.”

“Mikhail.” She hid her nerves well under a fa
ç
ade of calm, but the sound of her rushing pulse echoed in his ears like thunder. A little mouse caught in the jaws of a hungry cat. “What are you doing up? I thought you’d be down for the count.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I was just going out for some fresh air. You know, feeling a little shut up.”

“Don’t attempt to manage me, Claire.” Her cheeks further bloomed with a crimson stain and the scent of her blood sent him reeling. His true name on her lips was heaven, the sound a slow caress. Too much for him to bear. “And don’t call me Mikhail. That male no longer exists.”

She canted her head to one side. Studied him as though trying to deconstruct him as she took a tentative step away from the door. “Ronan calls you Mikhail.”

“Ronan is presumptuous.” He took a step toward her. And another. Claire didn’t back away. Rather, she squared her shoulders and knocked her chin defiantly into the air.
Such bravery in this female. Such strength.

“I heard you shout. Are you all right?”

Was that concern or suspicion in her tone? “Where were you going?”

She looked him dead in the eye without an ounce of guile. She tucked her left hand behind her back as though hiding something.
Crafty female.
“I told you. Out for fresh air.”

Where was Alex? And where in the hell was Ronan? He’d promised to return at sunrise. “Ronan!” Michael’s voice boomed through the house, but his feisty female didn’t so much as cringe at the sound. She stood stalwart against the coming storm, shoulders squared as though prepared to go to battle.

“He’s busy.” Claire folded her arms in front of her chest, pushing her breasts up to swell above the deep V of her shirt. Michael suppressed the urge to snatch her up and sink his fangs into that tantalizing mound of flesh. “And Alex isn’t here, so don’t bother shouting for him, either.”

Ronan stepped into the room not a moment later, his expression etched with concern and not a little shock. “The sun is still up.”

“Thank you, Ronan. I wouldn’t have known had you not informed me.” Michael let out a long sigh. “Where’s Alex?”

Ronan looked around as though he had no idea who Michael was talking about.
Good gods.
“I called and told him not to bother coming back. Everything’s under control here. There was no need for him to be here.”

“Oh really?” Michael snatched Claire’s left hand from its folded position, an expensive leather wallet clutched in her grip. She tried to pull away and the long sleeve of her shirt slipped up her arm, revealing his Patek circling her wrist. Her gaze met his and her cheeks flushed before she looked away, guilty. How long had she had it? Since that night at Diablo, no doubt. She’d lured him to the back of the club with the intention of robbing him. His mate had quite the skill set, it seemed.

Ronan stared at Claire, his jaw a little slack, before he checked his jacket. “You picked my pocket?”

Michael rolled his eyes at Ronan’s appreciative tone. He plucked the wallet from her grasp and tossed it back to its owner but left his watch on her wrist.

Claire’s mouth puckered and she crossed her arms back across her chest, making her look like a petulant child. Michael kept his fingers curled around her arm, and his thumb acted of its own volition, brushing over her creamy skin. “Just a breath of fresh air?” he asked, cocking a dubious brow.

She looked away, her jaw locked down tight. Her emotions shifted from shock and embarrassment to a deep hurt that reached through their tether and stabbed Michael’s heart. He’d caused that pain, and shame welled up hot and thick in his throat. He’d taken her vein, all but using her before he cast her aside as though she were nothing. Meant nothing to him. Then, he’d coaxed her in gentle conversation only to leave her in another male’s care once the sun rose. Could she not sense the indecision warring within him? The need he felt to make her truly his? And the fear that it could never, ever be.

“Since you’re up,” Ronan said, angling his body so that his back was turned to Claire, “there’s something I need to discuss with you. Something
important
.”

Michael’s gaze slid toward Claire. If he left her alone again, she’d run.

“I think we can trust her to behave. And not to pick any more pockets today, can’t we, Claire?”

She ignored Michael and focused her attention on Ronan. “Sure. Whatever. I don’t need fresh air. I’ll just watch TV.”

Claire turned and hooked her thumbs into her back pockets, the casual gesture causing her pert breasts to jut and strain against the flimsy fabric of her T-shirt. Michael swallowed down the lust that swelled within him like a tide. The need for both her body and her blood once again sent him teetering on the edge of logical thought. She eased away from the door, a movement meant to be casual. Tension vibrated through her; her pulse had picked up the moment he’d come upon her and the frantic beat of her heart was enough to tell him that had he woken a moment later she would have been gone. She’d stolen Ronan’s wallet and planned to leave, of that Michael had no doubt.

“I thought vampires couldn’t be awake during the day?” She shot an accusing glance his way as though she’d caught him in a lie. She was a cunning female. Using deflection to hide her own guilt.

He turned slowly to face her, his brow arched.

“I have to say, Mikhail, I’m curious as well.”

From over Michael’s shoulder Claire’s gaze met Ronan’s, and a reluctant smile crept onto her lips. What had they talked about while he slept? What bonds had they formed? He didn’t like the ease with which she bestowed her favor upon the other male. The quick expression of good humor that caused Michael’s body to warm and his cock to grow hard. A pang of jealousy shot through his chest and he rubbed through his shirt at the star-shaped scar that hovered over his heart. Ronan might have been his friend, but Michael couldn’t help the feral growl that boiled up his throat.

“Wait for me in the study, Ronan.” Michael’s eyes never left Claire’s, the shimmering golden depths evaporating everything around him.

“This concerns Claire, too,” Ronan remarked.

Michael didn’t bother to face his friend. If he did he might be tempted to tear out the other male’s throat. His tone chilled with each word: “Does it?”

Claire looked from Ronan to him and back, her brow puckered. She’d be wise to avert her gaze from the other male, especially when Michael’s emotions were so volatile. The Collective tugged at the threads of his memory. A primal, instinctual urge to take Claire upstairs, sink his teeth into her throat and his cock into her soft flesh, overriding any sense of decorum or his own self-imposed abstinence. He wanted to bite her. Drink from her. Fuck her until there was no doubt in her mind to whom she belonged. She would never look at another male again with even a hint of affection when he was done with her.

“You and I will discuss whatever business you have, Ronan. Alone.”

Claire took a step toward Michael. “There’s no way you’re going to have a conversation about me behind my back, buddy.” Claire poked her finger into his chest. He looked down at that slender digit and locked his jaw down tight. The pad of her finger rested on his scar, and the rumbling in his chest intensified to a snarl.

The pain from that damned scar was soul deep and Claire had just poked an already-agitated animal. She met his eyes with defiance and showed not an ounce of fear.
Admirable.
Michael held her gaze and drew on his power—power that, ironically, she’d helped to restore—and her hand dropped to her side, limp.

“Claire,” he intoned. “Sleep.”

Her eyes drifted shut and she crumpled like tissue paper into his arms.

“That’s one way to get a woman out of your hair,” Ronan quipped in his insufferably snarky way. “Really, Mikhail, could you be more high-handed?”

“In my study,” he instructed from between clenched teeth. “I’ll meet you there shortly.”

Ronan let out a long-suffering sigh and turned on a heel. “Suit yourself,” he said as he left the room. “But heed my warning, Mikhail: If you continue to treat her as a kept thing, she’ll flee her cage and slip right through your fingers. And if that happens, we might as well hand ourselves over to the Sortiari slayers. Or run the stakes through our hearts with our own hands.”

Quiet indignation simmered under the surface of Michael’s barely checked temper.
High-handed?
He was the reluctant king of an orphaned race whose future depended on the very fragile, very
human,
female in his arms. A female who could never truly be his mate. He had no choice
but
to be high-handed. And how he treated Claire was for her own protection. She might have seemed to be made of steel, but once the scope of her situation sank in her weak human psyche would crack. Ronan thought she would flee? Michael would hunt her to the ends of the earth.

He marched up the stairs to the second-story landing, passing the hallway lined with guest rooms. Whether she could be his mate or not, Claire belonged to him. He refused to put her anywhere but in his bed. No one ventured past the second story. Not even Alex. The third story of the house belonged to Michael alone. He’d freed himself from one prison only to entomb himself in another. It was dark at the top of the landing. Quiet. The re-creation of a century’s worth of hellish loneliness. Was it wrong to want to keep Claire for himself, a prisoner here just as surely as he was?

Did what either of them wanted matter in the larger scope of what was needed for the continuation of the race?

He set her on the mattress as though she were nothing more than a hollowed-out eggshell. Too delicate to suffer even the slightest mishandling. Her hair fanned out on the navy blue pillowcase like gold shimmering under deep water. Michael reached down to brush the stray locks from her face and Claire sighed, a sound so pure and sweet it caused his heart to clench in his chest.

She was a kept thing. A beautiful, exotic animal, delicate and rare. She had awakened his power, would be the mother of a long-dead race, and she had no idea how important she was to all of them.

The scent of her blood filled the enclosed space of his bedroom with a sweetness that made his mouth water. Michael’s fangs throbbed in his gums, and fiery heat scorched a path up his throat. He’d fed from her just hours ago, and yet he hungered for her with the intensity of the newly turned. His heart beat with a vigorous rhythm in his chest, and at his core power surged within him. He felt invigorated. Alive. And still it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, to glut himself on her blood. As long as she was human, the greatest danger to her life was Michael himself.

He jerked upright, only now realizing that he was bent over her, his mouth sealed over her throat. The bloodlust had seized him with a totality that weakened not only his mind but also his will. He would have taken her. Sunk his fangs into her neck and ravished her while she slept soundly under the influence of his command. Gods, not even twenty-four hours had passed and already he found himself helpless to resist her siren song. The hold she had over him was instant. Powerful.

And dangerous.

“Mikhail?” Ronan’s voice filtered up the stairway from the bottom floor. “Are you going to make me wait all day? Put Sleeping Beauty to bed and let’s get on with it!”

Michael pushed himself away from Claire, every inch of him trembling. He balled his hands into fists as he strode toward the doorway, all the while his body screaming for him to turn around and do what he’d yearned to do. Though he resented the other male’s constant presence, as Michael eased the door shut behind him he realized that Ronan might be all that stood between him and utter ruin. Perhaps it wasn’t just the Sortiari Claire needed protection from. Michael was beginning to think that someone ought to protect her from him as well.

Ronan paced the confines of the study, looking a bit like a caged animal himself when Michael walked through the open doors. His hair sat atop his head in a wild tangle as he gnawed on his thumbnail like it might be his last meal. “What happened between the two of you while I slept?”

Ronan turned to face him, his expression that of a disappointed parent. “Really, Mikhail? Not even a full day with your mate and you’re already jealous.”

“What happened?” That Ronan was deflecting caused Michael’s ire to mount, jealous or not. Something had woken him from his sleep. A feat that had never been accomplished in all of the many centuries of his existence. He’d felt a sense of urgency upon waking. Panic. Had Ronan scared Claire? Threatened her? Made an unwanted advance? Michael’s bloodlust raged. It wouldn’t matter at this point whose blood he feasted upon. If Ronan had offended Claire in some way, Michael would sate his thirst right here and now.

“If becoming a tethered vampire turns one into a mindless animal ruled by his base emotions, perhaps I should reconsider accepting your generous gift.” Ronan took a seat at Michael’s desk, opened an old leather-bound book, and focused his attention on whatever was written there. Michael knew that book. He’d seen it somewhere before … many years ago.

“Where did you get that codex?” His jealousy took a backseat to his curiosity. Many of the vampire race’s relics had been scattered to the winds after the Sortiari attacks. He’d recovered a few of them over the past decades, but this particular tome he’d thought lost.