Demon Night (22 page)

There weren't nothing he could do for Caleb. But Charlie—he'd do right by her. He'd do right by her if it took his last breath, the last beat of his heart.

He waded out, was up to his waist when she suddenly stiffened, her hand flying to her mouth. He delved into her emotions quick, looking for the source of the panic.

Her fangs had scraped her inner bottom lip. Blood scented the air, glistened on her fingertips.

Need tore through her…through him. Not sexual, not thirst—but something more powerful, and feeling an awful lot like both. His cock hardened, his balls drawing up tight.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, staring at the blood. “Oh, God.”

Then, as if mesmerized by it, she brought her fingers to her lips and slowly licked it off.

Instantly, he craved the long swipe of her pink tongue over his flesh. Heard the pounding of her blood, scented the perfume of her body's arousal. Imagined sliding into her as her fangs penetrated his skin.

Ethan pulled out of her head and dove, his heart thundering. But the frigid water couldn't cool the heat rising in him, or the dread.

She'd need to feed, and soon. And Ethan could no more tolerate the idea of someone taking from her what she didn't want to give, than he could the thought that her bloodlust might take him over and bring more hurt on her.

But,
by God
, he'd do right by her.

Ethan had been correct: she adjusted quickly. It wasn't so bad if she didn't listen to the sounds; they faded into the background, helped along with a little mental push from Pachelbel. When she paid attention, however, she could hear the water from her shower draining through the house's pipes, the slow rhythm of Ethan's breath beyond the bathroom door.

Incredible—especially considering that he'd said vampires had much less range than Guardians or demons. How much of an adjustment did
that
take? The full hundred years on Caelum?

She ran the water in the sink to brush her teeth, and she couldn't detect the sound of his breath anymore, just his voice. She'd told him what Dylan—Sammael—had said about creating bottled blood. Now he was on the phone, relaying it to his contact at Special Investigations, a woman named Lilith. Although Charlie couldn't distinctly hear the other woman, she sounded upset—apparently not at Ethan, however, because his responses were as easy as usual, even when he described how Jake had teleported to him and the events at the bridge.

And those events hadn't been so bad.
Once she'd conquered the instinct to breathe, the trip through the lake had been surreal…almost enjoyable. She could see in the dark. Flying was as amazing as before, and she hadn't had to turn her face from the wind. She was strong and fast, but she wasn't stumbling around and breaking things—as if expending human-level effort was a habit that her body recognized.

She wouldn't be taking many more hot showers, though. It hadn't hurt, but she'd immediately begun perspiring from the water, the steam. After a few seconds under the warm spray, she'd had to turn it to just above tepid.

A drop of blood fell to the basin, and Charlie looked down in dismay, then at her bleeding lip in the mirror. The need swept through her, but the thirst receded as soon as she rinsed out her mouth and the wound healed.

That wasn't so bad either, then. Her fangs were sharp, but only extended to her lower gum line when she held her teeth closed. Long, but not unmanageable. When she'd been singing, she'd always been aware of the placement of her lips, teeth, and tongue; she just had to be more conscious of her mouth until it became second nature again.

And the need the blood had created was like the flare of a match head: bright and hot, but dying quickly. The odor might briefly render her almost senseless, but the blood had had no effect when she licked it from her fingers. It hadn't even had a taste…and it had been nothing like the revolting sensation of drinking from Henderson's cold arm.

She couldn't taste anything—not the toothpaste, not the salt of her skin, not the water from the tap.

She didn't like that as much, but it wasn't so bad.

And at least I'm still alive.

The moment the thought squirmed into her mind, Charlie wanted to scrub it away. She'd told herself that same thing for six years after losing her voice; it hadn't helped any, and she certainly hadn't been
living
—just getting by.

She wouldn't do that now.

When Charlie left the bathroom, Ethan was standing beside the bed, nodding gravely at whatever the woman was saying to him.

He finished the call and slid the phone into the pocket of his jacket. His gaze traveled the length of her as she pulled on the lightweight hoodie she'd laid out on the mattress.

He met her eyes. “You all right, then?”

She nodded, attempted a smile—but had to look away from that searching gaze. On the wall, Caelum's towers and spires gleamed beneath a painted sun.

The sun. She wouldn't see it again, except in pictures and on television. “Tell me one really, really good thing.”

And hopefully nothing trite about living forever. She'd already figured that out…but it wasn't so reassuring when she didn't know what life was going to be like from now on.

Ethan was silent for a moment, then said, “You'll be able to land a hit on Jake now and then.”

Her smile felt real when she glanced up at him again. Good Lord, he was tall. And this close, his shoulders seemed as wide as a mountain. “He's really okay?”

His expression lightened, and some of the stiffness eased from his posture. “Yes. We can heal from just about anything.”

“I guess that's pretty good, too, if you happen to be shot in the head.”

He echoed her blithe tone. “I reckon it is.”

She almost bit her lip to hold in her laugh, then remembered she'd probably cut herself with her fangs and let it out.

His gaze fell to her mouth, lingered there. “Unless you're laughing, I imagine you'll be able to conceal them in public. Your upper lip is nicely…” He trailed off. “Well, it starts with a ‘P.'”

“Pouty,” she offered, and touched it with the tip of her tongue.

Ethan cleared his throat, looked over her head. “I'm much obliged, Miss Charlie. ‘Pouty' sounds just fine. I sure as hell wasn't going to call any part of a woman ‘plump' out loud, no matter how pretty I think that part is.”

She grinned. Once, “plump” might have described her in quite a few places—but she doubted it would ever describe any part of Ethan.

While she'd been in the shower he'd cleaned and dried his clothes—using some Guardian ability, because he'd never left the bedroom. His thumbs were tucked in his suspenders again, and his jacket opened to reveal his holsters, the gun belt slung at an angle across his hips.

It was an absolutely masculine pose, and strong, and made her want to step into that warm space against his chest and hold him to her…or grab that belt and tug him down to the bed. But Henderson's hands had been cold, and she'd been disgusted when he'd touched her, and she didn't know if she could survive the same reaction from Ethan.

“Are we going to see Jane?” she asked instead.

He nodded, but a troubled look crossed his features. “We need to talk some first, Charlie. Sammael will attempt to drive a wedge between us, try to turn you against me. And not everything he says will be a lie—but whether true or false, he'll twist it so it frightens you more, or serves him better. And he'll hit you with it fast, keeping you confused. And, in turn, keeping Jane confused so it's harder for her to decide.”

“So you're giving me time to think it all over.”

“Yes. She has to come of her free will, Charlie. I can't force her. And getting her to come will mostly depend on you.”

“All right.” She drew a long breath. “What will he think frightens me?”

“Considering what he said about Jane doing anything to keep you from being forced into intimacy, it'll be the feeding. He's going to ask you who you'll be taking blood from, remind you of—” Ethan's jaw clenched and his lips paled around the edges. “Of how Henderson touched you.”

Her legs wobbled. Charlie sank down on the bed, shoving her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. Her feet dangled over the side; her polished toenails looked like cheery squares of blood against her skin. “Was the thing about having to feed from a living source true?” she wondered dully. “I have to find someone to drink from?”

And depend on them to provide it to her.

“It's true, Charlie, but you won't have to look far.” He lowered to his heels in front of her, tilted his head to look up into her eyes. “I'll be feeding you.”

For how long?
She stared at his throat, remembered the cold lips, the humiliating arousal, the painful bite. “Why would you?”

“You'll need me,” he replied easily, and anxiety pinched her lungs, kicked at her stomach. His brows drew together, and he shook his head as if he was confused by her reaction. “If this is about what I said before, about not wanting a vampire sucking at my neck, I was speaking of something that's past—and I'll share it with you in a moment—but I'm determined it won't matter here.” He lifted his hands to the mattress beside her legs, smoothed his palms along the coverlet. “I'm willing, Charlie, and we were already headed in this direction.”

She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. She'd be an idiot to reject his offer; it wasn't as if she had many options.

And before her transformation, there was no doubt they'd have ended up in bed. But it had been equal then: she'd wanted him, he'd wanted her. She wouldn't have starved and wouldn't have been forced to turn to someone else if he
hadn't
wanted her.

But Ethan didn't need anything to survive.

“We don't have to tumble into the bed quick, Charlie. I reckon you've got more adjustments to make, need time to become accustomed to the bloodlust. I can give you that time.”

She looked down at him in surprise, met his earnest gaze. “How?”

“You can't physically force me. So when Sammael starts talking about how you'll be bedded against your will, you know you'll have a choice.”

Bedded. How could he make such an old-fashioned term sound like a sexy, heated promise? It'd be good between them…but would the feeding change it? Change
her
?

“I do think I need a few days to get used to…” She waved her fingers at her mouth, then slid her fist back into her sweatshirt pouch. Maybe more than a few days.

He nodded slowly. “There's a couple of other things, Charlie, but I'd like to get something settled first.” He rocked forward, coming up off his heels and onto his knees, his chest pressing into her shins.

She automatically moved her legs apart to make room for her feet. Her breath was shallow. “Settle what?”

His fingers encircled her wrists and he tugged her hands from their pockets. “Why it is, now that you're a vampire, that I don't want you touching me…unless you can't help it.”

“Ethan—” Her throat closed, and she tried to pull away.

“Drifter,” he said softly. “Unless you're touching me, and we're in a private moment like this.” He slid his palms over hers, locked their fingers together. His skin was hot.

No, his was a normal, human temperature. Hers was cold.

“It wasn't just that you didn't want Henderson to touch you—your instinctive reaction was to draw away from him, your skin tightening up with gooseflesh. Isn't that so?”

“Yes.” Her hoarse whisper barely carried the response.

He rested their linked hands on the mattress beside her knees. “I ain't human, Charlie. Cold and hot don't feel uncomfortable or disgusting—they're just another sensation that I have to block out. But I can't block
you
out so easily. Not when you were human, and certainly not when there's a twenty-degree difference between us.”

He was right; she could feel every inch of his bare skin. Even with her attention centered on his words, she was completely conscious of the heat of his fingers between hers.

“I hold myself tight, Charlie. A distraction means I ain't protecting you as well as I should, or that a demon might have an opportunity to take my head.” His thumb stroked hers, sending shivers of awareness across her skin. “Sammael will try to say I'll be feeding you out of obligation or guilt—and if you don't know what I've been thinking in private moments, I reckon you might believe him, because I've been running hot and cold with you. You have good reason to doubt how willing I am.”

She knew how deeply he wanted her. She'd felt it in his kiss, his hunger in the truck. But that was
then
, and she was unsteady enough to need it now. “What are you thinking?”

“That for two months, most every time you've said my name, I imagined hearing it with you beneath me.” He spread his fingers, pinned her hands to the bed. “And now that I've had you call me Drifter, knowing that it put a wall between us, I don't figure I'll be able hear my given name from your lips without wanting you under me, or on your hands and knees while I work into you from behind, or with your legs around me and your back against a door.”

Oh, Lord.
Her calves squeezed his sides as she instinctively tried to press her thighs closed—but whether she was trying to dam the need building within her or encourage it with more pressure, she didn't know.

Her breathing quickened, and she'd have said his name then if his voice wasn't pouring over her again.

“And I'm thinking that I've never seen your titties naked, but I know their shape, and I know your nipples won't ever again tighten up as they did on the deck tonight. Not from the cold, leastwise.” His palms moved rhythmically against hers, rocking her fingers against the silk coverlet. “But they will when I put my hands on them, or my mouth, or maybe just when you think of my hands and my mouth.”

Not just tight…aching. He hadn't touched her anywhere but her hands and with his voice, and her nipples were
aching
. “They are now,” she whispered hoarsely.

His throat worked, and his response was rough. “And I would slide my hands on up over your skin to feel them, but I reckon I ain't man enough to stop there. Because my heat would make you sweaty, now that you're a vampire, and feeling you all wet would make me think of touching, tasting you where you're even wetter.”