Scorched (16 page)

His gaze traveled to Constance, who was pacing back and forth, her slim, straight back a fierce exclamation. Her hips swayed when she walked, twitching her skirts like a cat’s tail. Mac blinked, fascinated by her curves. It was getting hard to think.

Reynard. Incubus. Bran. Right.

At least where the guardsmen were concerned, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what would happen next. The captain might be an okay guy, but there was only one Reynard and a whole Castle full of Brans. With a prize like an incubus at stake, it was only a matter of time before the guardsmen’s already shaky discipline came tumbling down like a house of cards.

So not good.

Mac leaned his head against the back of the chair. Constance took the seat facing him, her expression intense. “What can we do?” she asked, fingering her necklace again.

It was an odd moment, but in many ways the situation was familiar. He had a missing youth, a grieving mother, and a gang of bad guys. Not exactly a no-brainer, but he knew how this stuff worked. It was a problem he could wrap his head around and, with so much in his life that made no sense at all, that was good.

“Tell me more about this demon trap. It will catch a demon in cloud form, right?”

“Yes. The traps are usually about this big,” she said, describing a small cube with her hands. “A demon can be forced to enter by a command, or they can enter of their own free will.”

“Sylvius?”

“He went in on his own.”

Mac heard her ragged, sawing drag of breath. He could almost feel her composure crumbling with the same inexorable collapse as his own body giving way to dust. He’d seen this with victims and witnesses so many times, and still it hurt him to watch.

No emotional investment. Keep a clear head
. But that warning had lost all its teeth. He’d saved her from the bad guys. She’d offered him a case. There was mutual need.

Constance was still trying to talk. She gestured with her hands, but no words came out. She did it again, a strangled sound choking whatever it was she was going to say.

She covered her face with her hands.

Mac froze. “Constance, what happened?”

“Sylvius did it to protect me,” she said, pulling her hands away. She gulped back a sob. “He gave himself up to save me. And Atreus just watched.”

Fury hit Mac like a hook to the jaw.

 

Constance drew in another breath, the air dragging past the ache in her chest. Mac was kneeling by her chair now, looking at her with that worried expression men got, as if she were about to catch fire or foam at the mouth. In her experience, not one male could stand tears.

Mac was holding one of her hands in his. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her free hand. “So what should we do?” she asked. “Where do we start?”

The muscles in his jaw bunched, as if he were grinding his teeth. “You tell me everything again. Every detail.”

Bitter disappointment caked her tongue. She pulled her hand away from his. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to
do
something. They’ve got my boy.”

There was sympathy in the strong, square lines of his face. If it was sympathy for anyone else, it would have melted her heart. Because it was for her, she felt exposed.

He took her hand again, engulfing it in his own. “Slow down. No one thinks clearly when they’re upset.”

Upset? How could he describe the grief and fear she was feeling as
upset
? She nearly slapped him. “There’s no time to slow down!”

She knew that sounded childish, but his patient expression didn’t flicker.

“Stealth will count more than strength,” he said gently. “Stealth takes planning. Do you know where the guardsmen keep their prisoners?”

“I was following Bran when you interrupted and beat him to a pulp.”

He showed an instant of surprise, then chagrin that slid into humor. “Ah. My bad.” His momentary smile showed slightly crooked teeth.

“Indeed.” Constance pulled her hand from his and stood. She was too nervous to sit any more.

He stood, folding his arms. He was wearing a soft sweater the color of mulberries. It brought out the darker undertones in his skin. Next to him, her skin was as pale as bone.

These were details she shouldn’t have noticed. There wasn’t time except—oh, he smelled deliciously human. That had fooled her the first time they’d met. The demon scent was there, but right then the human overpowered it.

She could feel his heat like a lamp, drawing her in as if it could ease the furious pain of loss. She wanted him to hold her. No one ever held her. She remembered his salty skin, that delicious musk of man. Those thoughts had flitted past, dark butterflies of desire, when she got the idea to come to this room, where there was no spell to keep passion buried.

And the urgency of passion was exactly what she needed. Whether Mac was half demon or not, Constance was willing to gamble that his blood was still human enough to Turn her. She had led him to believe he was safe, but she hadn’t given up on the idea of taking his blood. The room, with all its sensuality, was her trap.

People believed she was so innocent, but up until now Constance had chosen to stay that way. That didn’t mean she was oblivious to the ways of deceit. She’d just never thought anything worth the sacrifice of her morals. Not until she’d lost her son.

Now she was faced with a choice of evils. Surely taking her first drink of human blood inside the Castle—even in the permissive confines of the Summer Room—meant that she could avoid turning into a ravening beast. Didn’t it? Wouldn’t that excuse deceiving Mac?

He had been wary earlier, but no man was all that careful in the throes of lovemaking. At least, that’s what other girls had said. Her own experience was woefully sparse. She had to play her hand with great care.

But was it right to bite him now, after he’d just saved her? Been so kind? Promised his aid? A sense of fair play shouldn’t hamper her, but it did. She was terrible at this biting business.
Just get on with it, for heaven’s sake!

Mac was looking at her curiously, as if he’d caught her daydreaming. Constance realized she couldn’t remember what she’d been saying.

He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, an intimate familiarity. His skin felt rough and warm. “Our first task is reconnaissance. We can’t make any other choices until we know what we’re dealing with.”

He looked down, his pupils reflecting the image of her face. Constance felt a chill of need and dread course over her limbs.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Kidnapping is exactly the kind of thing I was trained to handle. This is going to be a bit different with, y’know, the monster factor, but I’m seeing the possibilities here.”

He gave a dry smile. “It’ll be fun. Really.”

Swept along by his magnetic warmth, Constance put one hand on each of Mac’s shoulders. Almost automatically, his hands grasped her waist. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Attraction? Certainly. Hunger? Yes, but many kinds. Drumming like thunder inside her veins, those hungers called to places deep in her belly.

Mac’s nostrils flared, his dark eyes growing darker. He was feeling it, too. She pushed against him, her body aching, itching to be free of the laces of her garments. They confined and teased, pressing against the soft flesh of her aching breasts. The throbbing beneath her teeth made her part her lips, easing the burning sensation that only feeding would cure.

Mac seemed to hesitate, teetering on some knife-edge of decision. She watched him fall, the surrender in his eyes and in the sudden quickening of his breath. He was aroused, hers for the taking. On shaking breath, Constance murmured a prayer to whatever saint guided untried lovers and beginning vampires.

Mac caressed her, a low growl rumbling through his chest and into her bones. His lips crushed hers, pricking against her fangs, a burst of blood radiating across her tongue. Constance stood on her toes, leaning into the hard, bruising grasp, lapping at the strange, demon-spiced blood. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, and it only sharpened her need.

Strong hands ran up her body, making her twitch as they pressed against a sore place left from Atreus’s punishment. The scent of him was exotic, drawing her face to his skin. His hands were on her bodice, peeling away the thin scarf she wore. He bent, his lips, his tongue finding the arch of her collarbone and following the valley between her breasts. His breath was hot, electrifying, sizzling against the wet trails his tongue had left.

Mac’s dark, wavy hair brushed against her cheek, the springy texture of it begging to be touched. Her fingers fell against his neck, feeling the pulse that called to her through her belly, her nipples, through the painful clenching of her sex. Her knees quivered with it. She could feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against her flesh.

Take him. Take him now
.

But her senses were swimming. Her body wouldn’t obey, only react.

With a groan, he lifted his head. The irises of his eyes glittered with a scarlet fire. There was nothing there but pure, primitive possession. His scent was changing, the human smell fading as they stood there.

She’d missed her chance to feed, but here was something else. Fear and desire was a potent combination. Savage delight rose in her, ready to fight. Ready to grapple, however he chose to do it. This was even more exciting.

Demon or not, she still wanted him. Maybe she wanted him even more. She couldn’t really hurt a demon. They couldn’t be accidentally Turned. There would be no guilt.

Mac—or the thing that had been Mac—held her by the upper arms, his grip beyond even vampire-strong. He put his lips to her ear. “If I take you, I’ll hurt you.”

He pushed her away, leaving every nerve in her body shrieking with rage.

“No!” she said, grabbing the front of his sweater to reel him back in.

“I’m not human anymore,” he said, the mirror of her own emotions in his face. “I won’t play by the rules. I won’t be any good to eat, sweetheart.”

“I know that. I don’t care.” There were more needs than food. She pushed forward, her lips finding the hollow of his throat, salty-sweet with the taste of him. He was hot to the touch, almost burning. For the first time since she had been bitten, she felt truly warm.

He grabbed her arms, setting her back once more with that insane strength. “If you don’t back away, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Only if you’re willing to take a demon for a lover. I have no idea what my demon might do, but it wants you.”

And then she felt it, a pressing wave of need that rolled off him and sent her skittering backward. He took a step forward, the very proximity of his energy nearly bringing her to her knees. Her jaws burned with the need to taste him. Her body felt like it was breaking apart in its haste to surrender.

Constance panted, hugging herself, shivering with frustration. Now she wanted him for so much more than a first meal. A door had just cracked open, and there were all kinds of temptation on the other side. Everything she had missed since she was seventeen. Everything for herself.

But could she put her desires first, when there was a rescue at stake? Could she be that selfish?

He saw her hesitation. His jaws bunched, and the red light in his eyes flared, but he let her go.
Damnation.
She almost wished he wasn’t so honorable.

“The demon changes things, doesn’t it? It’s different when I don’t smell like dinner.” Mac gave her a long, narrow-eyed look, the burning glow lurking in his gaze. “I hope you didn’t bring me here thinking you could get your teeth into me.”

Constance drew herself up, trying to summon enough anger to wash away the lust burning up her body. It didn’t work. “What does it matter?”

“Sweetheart, if you have to ask that, you’ve been here too long.”

“Maybe.” She felt herself drooping, but pulled her head up again, refusing to look as defeated as she felt.

He gave her another look that said he was weighing and judging her soul.

Constance felt like she would burst into tears. “I’m sorry. Don’t walk away. Please don’t make Sylvius pay for my mistakes!”

She closed her eyes, wishing she could tell him about the kitchen table, the family she wanted, how he had blown into her existence and made that dream almost touchable because it was his face she saw there. Someone real.

All he could see was how she’d tried to trick him. Again.

“Please,” she said again, forcing herself to look at him.

He stared at her for a long time, thoughts chasing themselves across his face. The foremost was a sexual heat scorching in its frankness.

“Please,” she repeated, softer this time.

“There are some things I need to find out. Promise me you’ll stay here until I get back.”

“I can’t.”

“
Promise me!
” Mac grabbed her by her arms, his grip hard and hot through the fabric of her sleeves. He shook her a little, his strength lifting her to her toes.

She set her jaw. “Let go of me.” Her voice was quiet.

He flexed his arms, pulling her to him. She could feel his breath on her face, warm and urgent. “I need your word. I won’t help you if I’m going to come back to find you torn to pieces by the changelings or staked by the guards. I’m not that selfless.”

His demon’s energy was as palpable as rushing surf. His hands shook as he relaxed his fingers until he stopped crushing her. But he still held her, barely banked need alive in his touch.

Fear warred with the urge to cling to him, but she had her pride. “I’ve lived here for a long time, Conall Macmillan. I’m not easy prey.”

He swallowed, clearly forcing himself under control. “I don’t care.”