The Last True Vampire (13 page)

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back after sunrise.” Ronan flashed a cocky grin. “I’m counting on you to hold up your end of the agreement.”

Michael inclined his head. “Be careful, Ronan. The Sortiari will be out in force from now on.”

He turned to Claire and winked. “Such a worrier. Take it easy on him until I get back. His ego is delicate.”

The quip earned a sweet smile from Claire, and Michael’s jealousy flared hot in his chest. Ronan shook his head and clapped Michael on the back. “I can see that detachment is working well for you. Good luck, Mikhail.”

All the while acutely aware of Claire’s gaze, Michael watched Ronan leave the room. She placed a hand on her hip as she waited for Michael to look at her. How could three nights’ time make such a difference? She’d been so willing in his arms at the nightclub. And then, when he saw her on the bus, her hands pressed against the glass, he’d felt the bond ignite between them, her need just as powerful as his.

He’d proved himself capable of protecting her tonight. Killed for her. Brought her here in order to ensure her safety, and yet he felt her disdain like myriad daggers piercing his flesh. “Would you like a drink, Claire? Something to eat?” He could be gentle with her. Hospitable.

“What I want is for you answer my question. How long do you plan to keep me here,
Mikhail
?”

He let out a long sigh and poured himself another finger of scotch. Might as well enjoy it while his heart still beat and blood flowed. “You’re in my care and you’ll stay here for as long as I say you’ll stay here.”

Claire snorted. “I’m out of here.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Her eyes sparked with fire. “Oh no? Watch me.”

She spun around and stalked toward the door, not even bothering to run this time. Rather than go after her, Michael was entranced by the curve of her waist, the sway of her hips and her pert, round ass that all but invited his touch. Though her current petulance made him think that a good spanking might be in order. And that thought did nothing to tame the erection throbbing behind his fly.
Good gods
. How could he even think about keeping his distance from her when all he wanted was to get closer? To do lewd and desperate things to her?

He let her put distance between them. The predator in him rose to the surface, ready to give chase, and Michael reveled in that thrill. His throat burned with thirst and her scent enveloped him. Her soul called to him, pulling the tether between them taut. A growl of pure hunger vibrated in his chest and he overtook her in a blur of motion, slamming the heavy front door closed before she even had a chance to fully open it.
“Back off,” she snapped without turning to face him.

He leaned in to her, breathed deeply of the sweet scent that clung to her. She wasn’t afraid of him but excited. Her arousal perfumed the air, intoxicated him, and robbed him of his senses. “You don’t want that, Claire, and you know it.”

She snorted. “The hell I don’t.”

Her hands dropped to her sides, palms laid flat against her thighs. Michael tilted his head toward hers, so close to the delicate skin of her throat that he trembled with restraint. “Then tell me again.” His voice was little more than a harsh whisper. “Tell me to back away, to let you walk out that door. Tell me you don’t want to be here and I’ll let you leave. Say you don’t feel me in every single particle of your being and I’ll let you go right now.”

*   *   *

Claire’s breath came in quick little pants and she pressed her palms tight against her thighs to keep them from shaking. The words formed on her tongue, but she couldn’t push them past her lips. His body loomed over hers, the wall of muscle that was his chest pressed tight against her back. The heat of his mouth brushed the skin of her throat and her lower abdomen clenched. Instead of saying the words she wanted to say, all she could do was think,
Do it. Put your mouth on me. Just like that night in the club. In my dreams. Do it!
As though she had no control over her own body, her head tilted to the right, sending her hair off of her shoulder to spill down her back, exposing her neck to him. A low rumble vibrated in Michael’s chest and he let out a shuddering breath.

“Gods, Claire. You’re a cruel female.”

His dark, smoky tone stirred her desire and from the center of her being she felt the invisible tug of whatever unexplainable force connected them. He was right, damn it. She didn’t want to leave. Didn’t think she could force her feet to take her out that door if she wanted to.

The urge to lean back, to let his big body support hers, was almost too great to resist. Claire swayed on her feet. His very presence made her light-headed. Giddy. Standing behind her, his body touching hers in more places than was appropriate, was a stranger. A cold-blooded killer. And who knew what else. And god help her, she
wanted him
. Wanted him like she wanted food, water, her next damned breath. She reached out with her right hand and clutched her left wrist, sliding her fingers along the ridges of the Patek’s wristband through the long sleeve of her shirt. Jesus, there was something seriously wrong with her. Was it too soon to blame her reaction to him on Stockholm syndrome?

“I want some answers,” she said. “And if you don’t give them to me, I’m going to go out and find them on my own.”

Again that sense of connection flared between them, sending a rush of anxious energy through Claire’s bloodstream. She felt his disappointment, as though he’d hoped to continue their power struggle. Who in the hell was this man who had such a visceral effect on her? And why could she not bring herself to leave his side?

The heat of his body left hers and Claire hugged her arms around her middle. Only a few feet separated them, but she was overcome with a profound awareness of his absence. She turned, her body whipping around much faster than she’d intended, to find him heading back into the massive living room, his stride long and purposeful.

“Come and take a seat, Claire,” he said without turning to face her. “I’ll try not to bite.”

A shiver raced across her skin at the innuendo. The heat in his words was unmistakable, and though she couldn’t see his face, she had a feeling that a very male, very satisfied smile accented his full mouth. It was like he could climb right inside her head and read her thoughts. Did he know that she wanted him to do just that? Seriously, she needed professional help.

He took a seat, facing her, on one of the wide, overstuffed sofas. There was a regality to his posture as he stretched his arms out over the back, his torso ramrod straight as he crossed an ankle over his knee. Relaxed. Confident. He commanded attention and would have owned the room had there been a hundred and fifty people crowding the space and not simply Claire.

“Ask your questions,” he said in that smooth, seductive voice. “I’m at your disposal.”

Who talked like that? Seriously, it was like he’d stepped right out of a time machine.

“Are you a member of some sort of cult?”

He quirked a brow. “No.”

“Mafia?”

A slow smile spread on his handsome face, revealing the glistening tips of his fangs. “No.”

“Deranged cosplayer?”

His brow furrowed. “I have no idea what that is, but I’m going to go out on limb and say no, I’m not a deranged cosplayer.”

A burst of adrenaline shot through her bloodstream. She pressed her lips together to suppress the smile that threatened as she walked slowly toward the couch and pointed a finger toward his mouth. “Are those real?”

With that sinful smile still affixed to his face, he replied, “Yes.”

“What about Ronan?”

The cocksure expression faded and a low growl permeated the silence. “What about him?”

“Is he like you?”

His expression clouded and silver chased across his gaze. “More or less. Ronan is a dhampir.”

Claire studied the reflection in his eyes, anxiety tying her in knots as she began to doubt that he was in fact wearing contact lenses. She sensed his mood shift from cocky playfulness to something darker and decided to leave her questions about Ronan to the wayside.
Crap
. Was she really going to buy into this? “The priest who attacked me tonight … he wasn’t human, was he?”

“No.”

Ho-ly shit. Not an ounce of deception in the word. She swallowed. “And neither are you.”

The smile returned, this time feral. “No. Neither am I.”

Truth.

“Jesus,” she said on an exhalation of breath.

Claire found herself collapsing into the nearest chair. She hadn’t truly believed it until this moment. Had spent the past hours convincing herself that none of this was real. Michael’s strange behavior at the club, the fangs, the silver flash in his eyes, the way he made her feel. And the priest. His black eyes and even blacker heart.
It’s time to … coax the vampire out of hiding.

“You really did bite me that night at the club, didn’t you?”

His expression became hungry and Claire felt a rush of warmth between her thighs. It was like her body was hardwired to respond to him. She had not an ounce of control over herself. “I did. Your blood is a heady nectar. The sweetest thing I’ve
ever
tasted.”

Claire swallowed against the dryness in her throat even as a deep throb of desire settled between her thighs. “I think I’m going crazy,” she murmured. “I feel things that I don’t understand. I’m having the most”—a bark of laughter escaped her lips—“insane dreams. What did you do to me that night?”

His gaze was no less heated as he leaned forward on the couch. He rested his elbows on his knees and regarded her for a moment. “We are tethered, Claire. Your soul and mine. I’ve done nothing to you that you haven’t done to me. You are … my mate.”

Mate?
Was he out of his fucking mind? “You might as well be speaking German to me right now, because I don’t understand a single word that’s coming out of your mouth.”

Was it too late to hightail it for the door? Granted, he’d catch her before she could set a foot onto the driveway, but still.

“I don’t understand it, either.” He let out a slow sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. Her eyes followed the motion and her own fingers twitched. “You’re human and it shouldn’t be possible. And yet, here you sit.”

“How can you be sure?” The question seemed trite, even to her. She’d felt an inextricable, instant connection with him that night at Diablo. Not so easy to dismiss as an error in judgment. “I mean, you could have made a mistake.”

“There is no mistake.” He stood and crossed the room to where she sat, settling down beside her. Electricity charged the air between them, a pleasant tingle over Claire’s skin. He smelled like heaven: dark chocolate and cinnamon topped off with a crispness like the air after a hard rain. He reached out and smoothed her hair back from her face, studying her with an intensity that caused her to tremble. “Until that night, I was untethered. Soulless. The scent of your blood called to me, and in that moment my soul was returned. You are mine, Claire, and you know this. You feel it just as surely as I do. Or have you forgotten the way you begged for me to touch you that night?”

She opened her mouth, ready to protest. She’d been caught up in the moment, sure, but that didn’t mean— He seized her mouth in a ravenous kiss that left her breathless and her lips bruised from the punishment. Hard, unyielding, he slanted his mouth across hers, deepening the kiss as he thrust his tongue in her mouth. Possessed with an almost savage need, Claire answered, cleaving to him as she fisted his shirt and pulled him closer.

He gripped her upper arm in one strong hand and the other he used to cup the back of her neck. He eased her head to one side and Claire’s head spun in a dizzying blur.
Yes. Yes, yes, yes
. Anticipation coiled tight in her stomach at the prospect of what he was about to do. Just like that night. Like in her dream. His mouth left hers and she let go of his shirt to coil her fingers through his hair. Mindless, she pressed him to her throat, her breath racing in desperate gasps.

In an instant he took her down, laying her out on the couch as he settled between her thighs. Claire thrust her hips up, grinding into the length of his erection straining against the fly of his pants. On the heels of the sharp sting of his bite pleasure seized her, pulsing through her body in a warm rush that made her cry out.
Oh, god.
She could come like this. Just from a single sharp bite. A low, satisfied groan rumbled in his throat, accompanied by a slow, deep suction. Claire became light-headed; the room seemed to drop out from beneath her as she floated on a cloud of pure bliss.

“More.” The word passed slow and lazy from her lips. “Don’t stop.”

Michael pulled back with a roar, his mouth stained crimson. Panic lit his handsome features and the bright silver fled from his gaze, leaving nothing more than clear turquoise. His breath sawed in and out of his chest and his hand was shaking as he put his thumb in his mouth and bit down with his fangs. Two drops of blood welled from the punctures and he brushed the pad of his thumb over the skin on Claire’s throat, causing her to shudder.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t keep her world from careening. Her own breath sped in her chest and her body ached with the need to pull him back to her. No man had ever driven her to such a reckless state.

“You cannot leave.” Michael wiped at his mouth as he pushed himself away and off the couch. Claire was stunned, hurt slicing through her at his sudden coldness. “You’re not a prisoner, Claire, but don’t make me turn you into one. There are guards stationed throughout the property. Alex knows to watch over you, and if you trick him or try to leave under his watch I won’t hesitate to punish him. And it will be dire.”

He turned and left the room in a blur of motion. Alone, Claire clutched at her chest as she willed the lump of emotion that had risen in her throat to go away. His rejection cut through her with a razor-sharp edge and she hated him for making her feel so vulnerable.

CHAPTER

11

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight, Ronan,” a smooth female voice purred from the darkness. “I thought your king had warned you away from me.”