CONCEPTION (The Others) (7 page)

He said that as if it were a given. Like she was some sort
of wonder woman, taking on all comers with a brave front. Her “Yes” was a
partial truth. She remembered the helplessness of being strapped down while the
two attendants approached with the razor, their laughter as they’d done their
job, feeling like they’d stripped the last of her humanity from her as they’d
shaved her head, the horror of knowing she truly had become nothing more than a
vehicle for an ongoing experiment sinking in as the last of her hair had fallen
to the lab floor.

Deuce’s grip tightened as his breath hissed between his
teeth and something like satisfaction flared in his black eyes. “I will enjoy
making them pay.”

He was reading her mind! “Stop it!”

She pulled back into the pillow as far as she could, pushing
his hand away before just as quickly letting go. She caught her breath and
reined in her panic. “You have to stay out of my head.” However slight the
chance was, if the Coalition had not found her yet, she didn’t need to create a
beacon for them to follow.

His gaze searched her face. “That is not possible.”

“Why?”

“Mates do not—cannot—withhold secrets from each other.”

She
pulled herself up higher on the bed and leaned back against the carved
headboard, weariness dragging at her. For all that she’d slept, she felt
drained to the point of exhaustion. “Maybe we should just drop the subject of
mates.”

For a second he looked like he was going to argue, but then
he shrugged and handed her a pillow. “If that will make you happy, it will be
done.”

She could get used to that attitude. She tucked the pillow
behind her back. She reached up and touched her hair. She didn’t know what
she’d expected to find, but it felt the same as always—thick, with curls
springing all over the place. She squashed one flat. “You couldn’t have seen to
making it straight while you were at it?”

He glanced at her hand in her hair and what could have been
a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “No.”

“You could at least sound regretful.”

Strange lights flickered in his eyes as he touched a curl.
“I like your hair.”

So it would seem from the length he’d given her. It was
halfway down her back. She dropped her hand to the comforter. The intricate
quilting drew her fingertips. “You said you fed the baby?”

“It had to be done.”

She rolled her eyes. As if she didn’t know that. “What did
you feed her?”

“Bohdan examined her. While there are differences in her
physiology, her feeding needs seem to be human at this time.”

“Which means?”

“Baby formula works fine.”

Thank God. “I didn’t know how to care for a vampire child.”

Deuce
didn’t respond, just stared. He stared long past comfortable and just when she
couldn’t suppress the urge to fidget, he said, “You call our daughter ‘the
baby’ or ‘the child’.”

“I
don’t know her name.”

“You
have not given her one?”

“No.”

It
hadn’t seemed right when she hadn’t known if she could save her, if Deuce would
accept her, if she was even theirs.

Deuce
frowned, pushing her hair off her face, his expression as harsh as his touch
was gentle. “Did you fear loving her?”

She
counted the stitches in the quilt. They were very small. Twelve to an inch.
“Yes.”

“Because
she is mine?”

She
looked up to find him staring impassively at her, as if her not loving a child
because it was his would suit him just fine. “No.”

“Why,
Edie?”

The
way he called her Edie, in that deep voice that danced like soft notes over her
desire, immediately poked holes in her defenses. She held his gaze and bit her
tongue on the shameful truth that wanted to spill out.

“Why
did you not name her?” he pressed. His hand slid around her head to cradle her
skull in his broad palm. With one gesture, he made her feel small, pampered
vulnerable. And valued. Incredibly valued. She didn’t deserve his respect. “I
didn’t want to think of her as real.”

“So
you did not name her.” His fingers stirred the curls over her ears.

Anger
shimmered in the air, mingling with her guilt, leaving her feeling completely
exposed. “Pretty much.”

“And
for this you feel guilty.”

It
wasn’t a question. She jerked her face away from his touch.

He
shook his head, causing his hair to swing and catch the light from the lamps,
and caught her chin on his fingertips. The same lights gathered in his eyes,
flashing—red?—in the black depths. He looked at once totally familiar and
completely alien.

“I am
grateful you were there to care for her when I could not.”

His
thumb brushed her cheek. She flinched back. “I didn’t care for her. I threw her
in a sack and ran.”

“To
me.”

“That
doesn’t make everything okay.”

“It
does.”

She
squared her shoulders and blurted out the horrible reality. “When she cried, I
covered her mouth until she shut up.”

He
nodded as if she’d just told him she’d bought the baby a new blanket.

“And
in doing so you preserved both your lives. I am grateful for your quick
thinking.”

Eden
closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her churning stomach. She’d never
forget the baby’s expression as she’d smothered her cries. The tiny forehead
wrinkled above big blue eyes wide with terror. The way she’d fought and
struggled. Her baby, and her first memories were of the terror her mother had
given her. There was no taking that back.

Light
vanished beneath shadow. Deuce’s scent surrounded her. When she opened her
eyes, his face dominated her field of vision. The sympathy in his gaze told the
story. He’d read her thoughts. The warmth of his hand settled over her stomach.
The nausea left, but not the guilt.

“When
our daughter is old enough to understand,” he began in his deep voice, “I will tell
her the story of how her mother loved her enough to do what it took to get her
to safety. She will know what true courage is, and she will know it was her
mother’s gift to her. There is no need for your guilt.”

A
fairy tale. He wanted to spin her daughter a fairy tale. “It doesn’t change the
fact that at a day old, I taught her fear.”

The
bed dipped as he pulled her against his side, under his shoulder, in an age-old
gesture that screamed protection and comfort. She turned her cheek into the
cocoon of his strength because she needed, for one moment, to let go of that
pain. As if he understood, Deuce murmured, “It will not matter when weighed
against a lifetime of love and security.”

She
hoped so. She really did. She relaxed totally into his embrace, too tired to
fight the lure of his touch. “You have this thing for invading my space.”

“If
you are stating that I feel free to touch you, this is true. It is my right.”

“Are we back to that mate thing?”

His lips twitched. The mattress protested as he turned to
lean over her. “Yes.”

“I don’t suppose it will do any good to reiterate that I am
not your mate?”

“No.” His head cocked to the side and his smile spread. “I
have no doubt you are mine, my Eden.”

There was a distinctly possessive edge to his voice. She pushed
up higher, expecting him to move back. Instead he leaned in, letting his lips
brush down her neck as she rose off the pillow, his hand on her back supporting
her as she scooted back. Heat raced over her skin as his cool lips skated her
flesh. His laughter puffed over her collarbone as his tongue tested the hollow.
Pleasure shot to her core, followed hotly by need. Her pussy flowered as her
body instinctively arched into his. His fingers opened on her back in an
invitation.

God, he was dangerous.

“Let me go.”

“You will fall.”

“I don’t care.”

He pulled back, his dark eyes studying her face so intently
that she threw up additional mind blocks. “Stop it.”

“What do you fear?”

She feared becoming weak again, of surrendering control, of
losing the impetus to do what needed to be done. Of having another person
running around in her mind, controlling her emotions, reducing her to a puppet
whenever he got the urge. “Just because I don’t want to become ‘playmate of the
minute’ does not mean I’m afraid.”

“I can smell your panic.”

Panic was what she’d felt when she’d stolen the baby out of
the lab. Panic was what had driven her up the mountain looking for a vampire
who might be dead or might want her dead. This was just a healthy dose of fear.
This she could handle. “You need to get your sniffer adjusted.”

He blinked, and then the slightest of smiles curved his
lips. “I like your sense of humor.” He grazed the back of his fingers over her
cheek. Sparkling, effervescent bubbles of delight danced through her
bloodstream. “But you are still afraid.”

She tried to contain those seductive sparkles. “I’m
nervous.”

His fingers traced along her jaw until they reached her
chin. With a nudge, he forced her gaze to his. “You will tell me why.”

“Is that an order?”

“Will you obey it?” His thumb pressed lightly on her lower
lip.

“No.”

“Then it is a request for which I expect an answer.” The
pressure increased until her lips parted and his thumb slid within. A thrust of
pure desire speared through her center. Her womb clenched and her core softened
and dampened in anticipation.

“I can’t fall under your spell again.”

Deuce’s nostrils flared and the sharp planes of his face
tightened. “There was never a time when you left.”

He leaned in. She pressed back into the high headboard, the carvings
cutting into her back, the small discomfort mingling with the desire, giving it
a harder, more pleasurable edge. Dear God, he was potent.

“Don’t,” she whispered as his hair fell against her,
enfolding her in a prison of his scent and her desire.

He paused. “I just want a taste, Edie mine.”

She pushed against this chest, the solid wall of muscle
pressing into her palms, not giving under her strength. “It won’t be enough.”

His hair brushed her cheek as he shook his head. His “No, it
will not” whispered against her mouth as he fitted his lips to hers. Edge to
edge, breath to breath, he matched their mouths as he matched their
respirations. In to her out. Out to her in. His energy swept around her,
through her, summoning her response. She resisted, shutting her mind, closing
her lips. His broad palm slid behind her head, holding her in place as he
slanted his mouth over hers. His tongue teased her lips, lightly flicking at
the corners before stroking along the seam in a clear demand. Around her his
power intensified, electrifying her nerve endings. His will made mincemeat of
hers as his deep voice whispered in her mind,
Come to me
.

Her defenses crumbled with the gentle thrust of his tongue
past the seal of her lip. He was seducing her with his thoughts, his touch, his
taste. He tasted of heaven and man. Of passion matured to the perfect ripeness.
She moaned, opening her mouth to his will, arching into his embrace. He tugged
her to him, curving her torso into his, holding her for the thrust of his
tongue, imprinting every breath she managed with his essence, claiming her
thoughts as his until there wasn’t anything left except the sweet hot ache of
desire and the need for him to soothe it.

“I assume this means she has agreed?”

The intrusion nudged the corners of Eden’s awareness,
demanding something, but she couldn’t focus on what. Not while she savored, for
the first time in forever, Deuce’s mouth on hers, the strength of his embrace,
the power of his touch. His lips eased away. She couldn’t believe the pathetic
little whimper that escaped her control. Part of her was horrified that she was
clinging to him, straining against his efforts to pull her down against his
chest. The other part, the much more dominant part, just wanted the soothing
magic of his mouth on hers again.

“Be easy, mate.” The murmur echoed in her mind as well as
her ears, stroking along her desire. She turned into his chest. Rubbing her
cheek against the solid muscle, breathing deeply of his clean woodsy scent.
With the softness of down, the agony of unfulfilled desire banked to
manageable, fading behind the same wall as her pain, until it hovered just
beyond her experience.

Deuce straightened, taking her with him, his chin brushing
her head as he looked to the right.

“She has just awakened.”

“You need to ask her now.”

Eden shrugged off the lingering lethargy and looked toward
the door. Bohdan filled the entry, his eyes studying her so intently that she
immediately became aware that she was in a bed, locked in an embrace with his
brother. Embarrassment chased away desire. She shoved against Deuce. “Let me
go.”

Beneath
her hands, his pectorals twitched and for an instant the pain that hovered
became real, then disappeared before she finished her gasp.

“He
will not let you go,” Bohdan said calmly as he crossed the room. “You only hurt
yourself and him when you struggle.”

Yeah. Right. Like she could hurt Deuce. His shoulders were
so broad, sitting this close, they seemed to stretch forever, and beneath his
loose cotton shirt, layers and layers of muscle flexed in a blatant challenge
to all who would try. She wrenched again, getting nowhere, but under her hand,
that subtle, involuntary tightening happened again, making her pause.

She reached beneath the sheet and placed her hand on her
stomach. The wound was closed with only a rough scar left. She pressed. Nothing
happened. No pain. Nothing. Not even a sensation of pressure. Had the nerves
been cut? She looked up into Deuce’s face. There was nothing there except calm.
She pressed deeper, deep enough that she should be noticing. Deuce caught her
hand in his and pulled it away, turning his wrist so her palm faced outward and
brought it against his chest, reconnecting them. And she suddenly knew what was
happening.