Night's Pleasure

Savanah scooted closer. “Hold me.”

Muttering an oath, Rane put his arm around her and drew her against his side. Did she know what she was asking? Did she expect him to lie there beside her, to breathe in the warm, womanly scent of her body, listen to the siren call of her blood, and do nothing? Of course she did. She had no idea what kind of monster she had invited into her bed. He fought for control as the predator within him stirred, sharpening his senses, urging him to take her. His tongue brushed his fangs as his innate lust for blood sprang to life. Each indrawn breath only added to his desire. Drinking from her would satisfy him on so many levels; he would revel in the sounds of her sighs as he seduced her, in the heat of her flesh warming his own, the enticing smell of her surrender, the rich taste of her life’s essence pouring sweetly over his tongue…

He swore again as she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. A moment later, he felt the dampness of her tears on his skin.

Her trust routed the beast within him as effectively as if she had splashed holy water in his face.

Drawing her closer, he kissed her cheek. “Go to sleep, darlin’,” he whispered. “There won’t be any bad dreams tonight.”

“Make love to me, Rane.”

“Savanah…”

“Please make love to me, Rane. Make me forget…everything.”

He wasn’t surprised or shocked by her request. It was common enough in times of grief or stress for mortals to seek forgetfulness, either by drinking themselves into oblivion, or indulging in the primal urge to mate, not as an act of love but of renewal.

Drawing Savanah into his embrace, he kissed her gently, but she didn’t want gentle. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, slid one hand behind his neck, and kissed him as if her life and her sanity depended on it. And maybe they did, he mused, as he deepened the kiss.

He trailed his hands over her body, his own absorbing her heat. She was young, her skin smooth and firm, supple as she writhed against him. He slid his hand under her nightgown, his fingertips sliding up her calf, lightly massaging the smooth skin of her thigh, her belly, the underside of one breast. Her moan was one of pleasure and invitation.

He rose over her, his nostrils flaring. She smelled of toothpaste and soap, of woman and musk. It was a powerful combination, but stronger still was the steady beat of her heart, the constant lure of her life’s blood flowing just beneath the surface of her heated flesh.

He closed his eyes against the temptation to lower his head to her neck; instead he brushed a kiss across her cheek and tasted the salt of her tears.

Rane swore softly. He had done a lot of despicable things in his life, but he had never violated a woman who was grieving for the loss of a loved one. She might want him tonight, but she would hate him tomorrow, just as she would surely hate him when she knew the truth about his existence.

“Savanah, you should get some rest.”

“Don’t you want me?” She ran her hands over his chest, lightly, provocatively.

“Of course, but…” He groaned as her hand dropped lower, covering his arousal.

“Then take me,” she whispered.

And because it was what she wanted, because he wasn’t made of stone, he caressed her until she was on the brink and then he sheathed himself deep inside her.

There was a moment of resistance. A telling moment that had Rane cursing himself as he realized he was the first man Savanah had taken to her bed. It touched something deep within him, something he had thought forever dead.

And then she murmured his name, her voice whisper-soft, filled with love and need, and in that instant, he knew he would willingly sacrifice his life and everything he possessed to protect the woman in his arms.

Chapter Ten

He stood looking out the window, a glass of expensive whiskey in one hand, his eyes narrowed as he watched her cross the room. “Well, is it done?”

“Just like all the others,” she replied with a toss of her head.

“Did you have any trouble getting into the house?”

She crossed her arms over her breasts and then, shoulders slumped, she looked up at him out of eyes swimming with tears. “What do you think?” she asked, sniffling.

He chuckled softly. He defied any man, human or otherwise, to resist her when she looked so pathetic, so helpless. “Ah, Tasha, I was a fool to doubt you.”

She basked in his praise. “I don’t understand you. What do you hope to gain by this?”

“I intend to accomplish what we failed to achieve in the war.”

She closed the distance between them. “What do you mean?”

“Why, the destruction of all the Vampires, of course.”

“Then why kill the hunters?” she asked, frowning.

“Because they don’t just hunt Vampires.”

“I see,” she murmured, though she didn’t see at all. But then, it wasn’t important. She was in love with him. She would do anything he asked.

“Did you find the books?”

“No. What made you think Gentry had them?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Why do you want them?”

“Because they’re valuable. One of them contains an updated list of hunters. It would be a handy thing to have, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“The other one contains a list of Vampires, both the quick and the dead.”

She hadn’t known that, and she didn’t like it. She had managed to stay under the radar for the last fifteen years and she liked it that way.

“There aren’t as many hunters today as there were twenty years ago,” he went on, his expression thoughtful. “With peace between the Vampires and the Werewolves, there hasn’t been any need for them. The schools have shut down. The old hunters are dying off. If my information is correct, there are only a hundred or so left in the world. When they’re gone, most of their knowledge will die with them.”

“What of Mara? She won’t like it when she hears what you’re doing. It was her idea to call off the war.”

“Ah, yes, Mara. We’ve nothing to fear from her. She’s gone to Egypt, most likely for a good long time.”

“And when all the hunters are gone, what then?”

“We’ll kill a few important politicians, a few famous celebrities, an innocent or two. It will arouse the populace against the Vampires, and there will be hunts to rival those of the last century.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “It will be glorious!”

She nodded, even though none of it made a lick of sense to her. Sometimes she thought Clive was a little crazy, but then, weren’t they all?

Moving closer, she ran her hands through his hair. It was thick and brown and curled over her fingers. He was a handsome man, his body tall and compact, his eyes brown with a hint of yellow. She loved being with him, loved it when they both changed into wolves and hunted the night.

His arm snaked around her waist, his eyes burning with lust when he drew her body against his. She didn’t care what happened to the Vampires or the Werewolves or the humans or anyone else, as long as he wanted her.

Chapter Eleven

Savanah woke abruptly, her initial alarm at waking in a strange bed with a man quickly fading when she realized it was only Rane, and that he was asleep, one long leg draped over both of hers.

She stared at him, shaken anew by the events of the past night.

Someone had killed her father.

In the middle of the night, she had begged Rane to make love to her.

What had she been thinking? Of course, the real problem was that she hadn’t been thinking at all. She had been feeling lost and alone. Caught up in the reality of death, she had reached out to Rane and surrendered her virtue in the most life-affirming act known to mankind. And it had been wonderful, she thought with a guilty sigh. Wonderful, and all wrong.

Sitting up, with the sheet tucked under her arms, she cradled her head in her hands. Lord, what if she was pregnant? Would her child be a shape-shifter? She groaned softly. What had she been thinking, to indulge in unprotected sex with a man she hardly knew? And yet, right or wrong, she had found comfort in Rane’s arms.

On some deep, primal level, she had been aware of his presence beside her even while she slept, had taken comfort in having another human being nearby.

Except that he wasn’t human, at least not entirely.

Holding the sheet over her breasts with one hand, she studied the man lying beside her, his face barely visible in the faint glow of the night-light he had thoughtfully left burning. He was truly the most amazing-looking man she had ever seen, his features strong and remarkably handsome. Lying there, with one arm folded behind his head, he looked like some pagan warrior prince awaiting the arrival of his favorite courtesan.

The thought brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. Last night, she had played the courtesan. Shame made her cheeks burn hotter. What kind of woman was she, to make love to a man she hardly knew, on the same night her father had been killed and her house had been ransacked? How could she be in bed with a man she hardly knew?

A man who was awake and watching her through dark, heavy-lidded eyes.

He sat up, exposing a pair of broad shoulders and a chest Savanah knew all too well.

Savanah searched her mind for something witty and urbane to say and came up blank, so she waited, hoping he would break the awkward silence between them.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?” he asked, unable to completely disguise the accusation in his voice.

She stared at him, thinking the silence hadn’t been so bad, after all. And then she shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

He grunted softly, his gaze searching hers. “Regrets?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“There’s no need for you to feel guilty about what happened.”

“Isn’t there?” Tears scalded her eyes.

“No. It was a normal reaction. You were hurting and in need of comfort.” What they had shared last night had been more than sexual intimacy. How could he make her understand that? ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">