Hunter's Fall (33 page)

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Authors: Shiloh Walker

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #General, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Hunter's Fall
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Slowly. Then not so slow . . . then fast, faster, faster . . . driving into her with all his strength, and it still wasn’t enough. Falling back over her body, he tangled his hands in her hair and arched her head back. “Come back to me,” he pleaded against her lips. “Please . . . Please, come back.”
“Shhh . . . ” She stroked a soothing hand down his back. “Just love me . . . Just love me.”
Broken, he whispered, “I already do. I always have. Even when I had no idea who you were, that you waited, I loved you then.”
“Show me, then.” She nipped at his lower lip, then cupped his face between her hands, staring at him. “Show me now . . . just love me. Give me now, and we’ll sort out the rest later.”
Not enough . . .
But he wasn’t strong enough to pull away, wasn’t strong enough to deny either of them. As she kissed him, he wrapped his arms tight around her, rocking inside until the pleasure burned too hot, too bright. As she begged and pleaded and whimpered beneath him, he made love to her and when she climaxed with a cry, he was with her.
 
 
I
T could have been hours later. It could have been minutes.
He lay with his head pillowed between her breasts while she combed a hand through his hair.
“I’ve wanted this,” she murmured.
Glancing up at her, Dominic asked, “What?”
“This.” A smile curled her lips and she shrugged. “Just this. To be with you, like this, again. Every day of my life, I wanted this.”
“Then take it.” He nuzzled her belly, breathing in the scent of her skin. She smelled of woman. She smelled of sex. She smelled of him. He nipped the soft skin. His fangs throbbed in their sheaths and he shuddered as the need to bite her, mark her, crashed through him. “Come . . . ”
Her body stiffened.
Dominic tensed as he caught the edgy scent of fear. Even in dreams, he felt it, sensed it. Rolling off her, he crouched on the bed, waiting. “What?” he asked quietly. “What is it?”
He heard nothing but the racing of her heart, smelled nothing but her fear. Yet he knew something was wrong.
“No.” Her eyes closed, her face crumpling.
Dominic swore and reached for her, drawing her against him protectively. “What is wrong, baby?”
“I don’t want to wake,” she whispered. She opened her soft blue eyes and stared at him, her gaze glittering with tears. “I don’t want to leave here . . . leave you.”
“You’re not leaving me.” Shaking his head, he brushed her tangled hair back from her face and said, “Wake up . . . and come to me. Stop hiding . . . stop . . . ”
Even as he said it, she was fading.
In the span of one heartbeat, she was gone.
CHAPTER 17
 
M
ORGAN came awake with a jerk.
For a split second, she didn’t remember anything . . . save her sister and the fact that she’d screwed up royally.
Then she realized the ceiling overhead wasn’t
her
ceiling and the bed beneath her wasn’t really a bed. It was a cot, hard and narrow and unyielding.
Jackknifing into a sitting position, she stared at the dim room while her heart raced in her throat.
Filtered sconces on the wall provided the only light and it wasn’t much, either. But she could see well enough, and as she came off the bed, she caught sight of one thing that made her heart stutter.
But whether it was fear, or something else, she didn’t know.
It was
him
.
Blood rushed to her cheeks as memories from her dreams slammed into her.
She didn’t remember much of those dreams, just his mouth on her, his hands all over her body . . . and she could remember doing the same to him. Touching him, stroking him, tasting him.
Shoving her hair back from her face, she looked around the narrow, boxlike room and tried to figure out how they’d gotten in there. She remembered arguing with him—Dominic—his name was Dominic. She needed to leave, find Jazzy. He hadn’t wanted her to go.
Then . . . what?
Her head began to pound and she sank back down on the edge of the cot, cradling it between her hands.
I know you’re afraid
, he’d told her. Then he’d said he wouldn’t hurt her.
Because . . . what . . .
The pounding in her head increased and her breath caught at the pain.
I’ve spent too long waiting for you . . .
Too long.
In her heart, she felt something clench.
Her breath froze. She started to rock unconsciously, trying to remember something more. Anything more. But there was just darkness. Followed by dreams. Crazy dreams. Hot and wicked dreams.
Pressing her hands to her flushed face, she swallowed. Her mouth was dry, painfully so, and her heart raced. Against the fabric of her bra, her nipples were hard, pressing into the material. It lightly abraded them, just one more little edge of arousal gathering inside.
“I need a damn drink,” she muttered.
And a cold shower.
Preferably away from the very, very confusing man stretched out on the floor . . . right in front of the door.
The only door in the tiny little room.
Shoving off the cot, she made her way around the edge of the room, tried to decide if she could slip outside without him waking.
He hadn’t moved an inch. A few feet away she froze, staring at his still body.
And she did mean
still
—hell, it didn’t even look like he was breathing.
Squinting her eyes, she stared at his chest, waiting to see it rise. Fall.
Nothing.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Don’t be dead.”
Sidling closer, she knelt down, brushed her fingers against his wrist.
His skin was cool. Too cool.
No. No. No.
It was an endless refrain in her head and tears burned her eyes. Her heart screamed in denial.
Swallowing, she closed her hand around his wrist, her fingers seeking the spot on the inside. Pulse . . . needed to check for a pulse . . .
And then, in the blink of an eye,
her
pulse was racing.
Morgan yelped out in shock as he moved. One moment, he was as still as death, and the next . . . she was stretched out flat under him and the weight of his body crushed hers into the floor.
Shaken, she stared at him.
Time stretched out.
She was acutely aware of him, that lean, strong body, so unbelievably strong and fast. And cool. Too damn cool, but it did seem to warm against hers.
There was also the odd, unnerving little fact that he didn’t seem to be breathing . . .
But even as she thought that, his nostrils flared and she heard him inhale.
His lashes drooped over his eyes and he lowered his head, nuzzling her neck. “You smell so good,” he whispered, his voice rough and low, drowsy. His tongue touched her skin. “You taste good, too.” He lifted his head, watching her with sleepy eyes.
“Do I?” she asked. She blushed feeling like a fool.
All he did was smile and lower his head back to her neck, taking a deep breath . . . like he was just breathing her in. “Yeah. Real damn good.” He nuzzled her neck.
She cupped the back of his head and arched her neck, baring it for him.
His body stiffened.
Something hot and potent, a power so strong it was nearly tangible, rolled through the room.
Morgan gasped as heat and fear coiled inside her. Clutching at him, she burrowed against him. Closer. She needed to be closer.
And for about two seconds, she was. His hand tangled in her hair and she shuddered as she felt the press of his teeth against her neck.
Then, quicker than she could follow, he was gone.
She blinked and sat up, staring at him as he stood on the far side of the room. Not that he was terribly far away in the coffin of a room. The only way he could have gotten any more distance between them would be if he had started to climb the walls.
“What?” she asked, feeling more than a little bewildered.
At him.
At herself. What in the hell was she doing?
He shook his head. “I need a few minutes.”
“Ahhh . . . okay.”
His gaze flicked past her, lingered on the door. He edged around the room, keeping a careful distance between them. “Would you excuse me? I need to open the door.”
“Then open it already,” she snapped defensively. Hell, he was acting like he’d woken up to find her pawing him. Against his will.
Which was just plain stupid, because she knew he wanted her.
She could
feel
the edge of his hunger, and it was going to drive her mad.
She gestured to the door, which stood a foot off to her side. “By all means, open the damn door.”
Something dark flashed through his eyes, something that sent a shiver down her spine. “Back away from it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get the fuck away from the door, because if I get too close to you right now, I’m going to spend the next thirty minutes fucking you.”
Morgan’s mouth went dry. Her knees threatened to buckle. A river of heat ran through her lower body, need cramping in her belly. “I . . . ah . . . ”
She didn’t think she wanted to move.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. Then, abruptly, he turned away. His shoulders rose and fell as he took one deep, slow breath, followed by another. “Morgan, I need a few minutes, okay? Just move away from the door, please—I’m going to unlock it and let you out. Just don’t try to leave. I need a few minutes, then we’ll . . . shit. We’ll talk. Okay? I just need to . . . clear my head, you don’t need to be that close to me. I’ll just make things worse.”
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she retreated, moving away from the door. Folding her arms around her middle, she stared at the wall and tried to understand what in the hell was happening. Inside her heart. Inside her head.
He’d been wrong.
Being close to him didn’t make things worse.
Not
being close to him did that.
 
 
T
HE moment she slipped out of the room, he locked the door again and stormed over to the mini fridge. He deactivated the locks and grabbed a pack of bagged blood. He hated the stuff, but right now, he had no choice.
The hunger was tearing into him, and although he could control his actions, he doubted he could control his body’s
re
actions. Namely the fangs, the eyes. Since his control was already shot around her, he had to manage the blood hunger better.
He used his fangs to pierce the bag and drained it. The taste of it, flat, nearly bitter, lay on the back of his tongue, and he tried not to think about how Nessa would taste. Tried not to wonder if he’d ever have a chance to find out.
It took less than two minutes, and he listened to her through the walls the entire time. Even if he could stand the thought of not having her close, it wasn’t safe—
As that thought drifted through his mind, he felt it.
He jerked his head, eyes narrowed as he stared off into the distance.
What was that . . .
It wasn’t danger, or at least not anything he could recognize as danger. It was . . . odd.
Son of a bitch.
It took him less than thirty seconds to figure out just
what
he was feeling.
Or rather . . . what he wasn’t.
He’d only sensed something like this once, but it hadn’t been that long ago. It hadn’t even been a few days.
Ana Morell . . . no. Lawson. Ana Lawson. Ana, with the very strange gift. It had to be her.
He hoped.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit
.
He threw the empty blood bag on the bed and left the room, leaving the door unlocked.
He found Morgan in the living room, pale and shaken. She had a pinched look to her eyes, her soft mouth. With her arms crossed over her middle, she huddled against the wall, watching him as he drew near.
“I feel something really weird,” she said softly.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and murmured, “I know. I feel it, too.”
“How?” She swallowed, then shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. We need to leave.
Now. Right
now.”
Dominic cocked a brow. “We don’t need to leave. Relax. I think I know what’s going on.”

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