Undying Embrace (6 page)

After slamming the car door shut, she shoved the keys in the ignition. The engine started just as he leaned into the corner on his motorcycle and turned out of sight. She popped the roof, threw it in drive, and punched the accelerator. No way was she going to lose him.

The loud roar to her right told her he’d turned onto US Highway 1, heading out of town.

At one a.m., traffic was light on the highway, but he was still about two car lengths ahead of her, hauling ass and weaving from one lane to the next. His black leather jacket fluttered in the stiff wind behind him like a sail. The hand on her speedometer passed eighty-five. She was gaining on him.

Elle had no idea how long they played cat and mouse on the highway when he suddenly decelerated, taking the road to his left. She hit the brakes, signaled, and swung a hard left. “You’re not getting away that easy.”

After about half a mile, she had him washed in a spray of bright white, beaming off her headlights. His head swiveled left for a quick glance over his shoulder. Light bounced over the reflective shield of his helmet for a second, then he faced forward. His bike surged.

“Dammit, Arran. Pull over,” she yelled into the windshield.

As if he’d heard her tirade, Arran swerved right onto a dirt road. She didn’t let up, following his cloud of dust. His bike skidded sideways, and he came to an abrupt halt, blocking her path.

“About damn time,” Elle muttered, slamming on her brakes. She shoved opened the car door at the same he dismounted, tossing his helmet onto the dirt road. He met her head-on as she rounded the front of the car.

“What the hell are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” Even in the shadow of her headlights on the darkened road, his face was flushed with anger, his eyes lit with a fiery glow.

“You walked out on me!”

“What?”

“That’s number three now. I guess that’s shame on me, isn’t it?” She lifted her brows.

“It’s not like that.” He shook his head.

“Oh no? Then what is it? Tell me, because I don’t like feeling like a fool.”

“You’re not a fool.” His eyes narrowed on her.

“Well, that’s what it feels like every time I decide to let you in and then you turn and walk out on me.”

“I have my reasons.” He pivoted on his heels and stalked back to his bike.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” She threw her hand up, palm entreating the sky for some kind of explanation as he walked away, bent over, and picked up his helmet. He swung one leg over the seat of his bike, resting the black globe on the fuel tank.

As if the movement had sucked his last drop of energy, he swung his head slowly in her direction. “Go home, Gabrielle. What almost happened tonight can never be.”

Arran’s face was devoid of emotion, resolute. How dare he decide for her what could and could not occur in her life! Maybe he was right, but she deserved a better explanation than shut up, go home, and accept it.

The sound of his engine roaring to life spurred her into action. She dashed in front of the wheel, blocking his exit.

“Get out of the way.” His voice was stronger, louder over the hum of the engine. “Get in your car and go back to your sister’s place. Where you’re safe.”

“We’re not finished here.”
Not by a long shot.

“I’ll come by tomorrow night, and we can talk about a plan to find your sister.” Arran lifted his helmet, preparing to slide it into place.

Before his helmet made it over his head, though, Elle whipped around his bike and straddled the seat in front of him. He jerked back, eyes wide, as his helmet took a nosedive back into the dirt.

“What are you doing?” His voice sounded deeper, more hoarse. He leaned forward, slowly reaching around her side, as if he wanted to be sure they didn’t touch, and killed the engine.

“I want an explanation. I
deserve
an explanation.”

“You know why.” His palms worked over the tops of his thighs.

“You’re evading the question. Again.” She tilted her head. “Enlighten me.”

The tips of his fangs glimmered beneath his lip. She couldn’t help but stare as they flashed in the glare of her car headlights. Callous fingertips lifted her chin to his gaze, one that flashed with an unholy red glow.

“You tend to forget they exist.” He raised one brow. “You want to ignore them, pretend I’m not a vampire.” He slowly shook his head and dropped his hand.

“I know who you are, Arran MacLain.” She lifted her hand to his face, despite the devilish glare he wore to frighten her away. The desire to feel the texture of his stubble across her skin was way more powerful. She half expected him to flinch from her touch, but for a moment, as she followed the curve of his jaw with her palm, he leaned into her caress before pulling back. “We lived in the same house for more than five years.” She lowered her hand. “I’m not some kind of head case.”

“You don’t know me.” The deep timbre of his voice wrapped his words in an ominous package.

“How am I supposed to know more about you, when you won’t allow anyone close enough to learn?”

“I’m a killer, Gabrielle.” He snarled the words at her. “That’s all you need to know. Is that what you want sliding into your bed every night, lass? Touching your body with hands that were soaked in blood minutes before?”

“Stop it!” She couldn’t stand where he was going with this. Why did he always think the worst of himself? “You kill because you have to…to protect.”

Arran clutched her face with both hands; his gaze bored into her soul. “I kill the same creatures that I am, the ones who’ve lost control of their bloodlust. What separates the vampires of the Enclave and the ones we put down is a fine line, kitten.” His thumbs stroked her cheeks. “Don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten the night I found you with a DEAD at your throat. The terror in your eyes…” He lowered his eyelids, as if reliving that horrible night. His throat worked once, before he opened them again. She clutched his hands, not wanting to remember that night. He shook his head before continuing. “Do you want that at your neck again? Because if you take this any further, that’s
exactly
where I’ll be. I’ll want all of you, and I won’t be able to stop.”

A shiver ripped up her spine, and she dug her teeth into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Part of what he said hit a nerve. She did keep the fact he was a vampire locked away in the back of her mind. To her, he was Arran. That was all she ever saw. If she didn’t think about him as a vampire, she wouldn’t have to deal with it. But the time to wake up and face the fact was here. Now.

She released her lip and gave his hands a squeeze. “That was seven years ago. And like I told you before, I’ve changed. Grown up.”

His hands fell to his sides, and he leaned back, a swirl of red circling his irises. “Because of Logan? Is he a part of why you’re so grown up now?”

“Oh my God.” She glared. “Not that it’s any of your business, since
you
were the one who walked out. But for your information—no, he’s not.”

Lifting his arms, he rubbed his fingers across his eyes and then along his chin. “Gabrielle…” He groaned and shook his head.

Elle reached out and buried her fists into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling herself closer. “Seven years is a long time. Give me a chance. Give
us
a chance.” Her mouth covered his, and she nipped his lower lip before licking away whatever sting she’d left behind. Damn, he tasted so delicious. Like hot, sweetened spice that made your mouth water for more.

Strong hands clutched the sides of her head and peeled her mouth from his. “You don’t want me, kitten.” His words rumbled an inch above her lips.

“Yes, I do,” she breathed.

Arran growled and then seized her mouth, kissing her as if he was a demon released from hell, and she was his first taste of light. And God, it was good.

His lips trailed across her cheek, her chin. The scrape of his short beard along her face had her nipples tightening into hard peaks and a rush of moisture gathering between her legs. She leaned her head to the side as he made his way to her ear and then down the side of her neck. Her heart raced. Elle ran her hands down his back and over the hard muscles that rippled under the leather he wore. She loved the way he felt in her arms.

He licked at her neck, and she couldn’t help but moan. Then the sharp sting of fangs scored her throat. She jerked and froze, digging her nails into the leather on his back. Images of long fangs, stained with blood, flashed inside her mind. She gasped. Memories of a suffocating stench flooded her mind, horrible pain, pulling her under into darkness.

No escape.

She was going to die.

Shoving her palms against his arms, she flung herself away from his chest. She scrambled off the bike, nearly tumbling face-first into the dirt. The sound of her blood pounded away in her ears, an ironic drumbeat to the passion that had made her pulse race moments before.

Whirling, she faced him and reached for her throat, needing to soothe the ache there. She pulled her hand away and glanced down. In the shadow of her headlights, a dark, wet stain smeared her skin. Her hand trembled at the sight.
Hold it together, Elle. Remember, you’re all grown up now.

“You son of a bitch.” She dragged her gaze from her palm and to his face. He didn’t speak; instead, he leaned over and snatched his helmet with one hand from the ground. When his gaze returned to hers, he shook his head and sighed.

“Get out of here, Gabrielle. This is
not
what you want. And I’m
definitely
not
who
you want.”

Her head spun like some skydiver in an out-of-control free fall. And that’s exactly how she felt. She backed away then turned and gripped her car door. What did she really want from him? She was the one running now, proving everything he’d said was right. God that chapped her ass raw. She glanced over at Arran. He sat there, holding his helmet between his legs—waiting for her to leave first.

“Go to hell, MacLain.”

“Been there. Many times,” he said with half a smile. “The guy with the horns keeps a seat hot for me.”

Chapter Five

Elle yawned, reached up, and worked her palm in a lazy circle over the wet mirror in the steamy bathroom. Slowly, the blurred image of her face came into focus. If only it were that easy to remove the doubt and fear from her mind. With just the wave of her hand, all would be right with her world. Kenric and Arran had offered years ago to erase her memory of that night. She had refused. The DEAD attack in the alley seven years ago, and the memories of her childhood nights spent fighting off her mother’s boyfriend-of-the-week before she’d married their step-father, had made her the woman she was today: a fighter. Stronger. She didn’t need anyone manipulating the neurons in her brain so that she could cope.

Hell, that’s what she’d been doing since the day she was born, coping.

She breathed a heavy sigh, followed by another yawn. The day had been a long one. Without the deep dark UV protection over the windows, her sister’s apartment was much lighter during the day than she was used to, making it hard to sleep. That, and the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about what had finally surfaced between her and Arran.

He was right. She had been deluding herself for years, ignoring the fact that he was a vampire and the needs that entailed. Instead of dealing with her trauma, she’d been burying it. Working with the Enclave had given her a physical outlet against her enemy, but last night had forced her to take a hard look at herself. Her bigger problem existed deep inside. If she didn’t find a way to exorcise that nasty little demon out of her head, she would always be the victim.

And she was nobody’s victim.

An hour later, she’d finished the last touch on her eyeliner when the doorbell rang. Tugging the zipper up on her waist-length, red leather vest, she headed downstairs to the door.

As she came down the steps, she spotted through the front door’s narrow windowpane a red-and-black motorcycle parked next to her convertible. Unbidden, a groan released from her throat, and she froze on the last step. Why was she surprised? Even after what happened last night, she should have known he wasn’t going to allow her to search for her sister alone. He may have left the Enclave, but he was still the same alpha male warrior: arrogant and hardheaded.

By the time she reached the door, Arran was putting fist to wood in a slow and steady pounding.

“I know you’re home, Gabrielle,” he yelled through the door. “You might as well open the door.”

Giving a hard twist to the brass knob, she yanked the door open. “What are you doing here?”

Arran stood with one hand gripping each side of the door. He tilted his head and stared down at her. “I said I would be here. I promised to help you find your sister, and that’s what I’m doing.”

The moonlight’s silhouette wrapped his body from behind, marking the wide breadth of his shoulders, the perfect angle of his jaw, and the straight slope of his nose. He’d left his hair down tonight, allowing the alternating black and blond layers to fall across his shoulders. The blond streaks reflected the moonbeam’s silvery light. He looked like a god wrapped in Satan’s clothing.

He dropped his arms and sauntered past her. Elle closed the door and turned, her gaze following the way his body moved under his leather jacket. The way his hair swayed, brushing the top of his shoulder blades. She bit her lip. The temptation to savor the rest of the view was killing her.

Don’t look.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

Don’t do this to yourself.

Damn, she couldn’t resist. Elle’s gaze dropped.

His black boots were scuffed, dusty, and worn in that I-don’t-give-a-shit-but-I’m-sexy-as-hell-anyway manner. Her eyes moved up as he turned around at the staircase and leaned against the post. On impulse, she licked her lips at the large bulge waiting behind the fly of his leather pants. She swallowed and breathed deep, trying to calm the flutters in her stomach. The scent of cinnamon and leather hung in the air, sending a jolt of electricity straight through her. She had to move.

Rubbing her palm low across her abdomen, she headed for the living room. The desire to rip his clothes off and rub herself all over that amazing body drove her crazy. She also didn’t need bloodhound back there to get a whiff of her arousal. Distance. Yep, that was the answer.

“I don’t need a chaperone,” she said from behind her sister’s green couch, staring at the bright glow of the moon outside the window.

The thump of his boots against the wooden floor followed her into the room and stopped. She refused to turn around. God help her, she didn’t need another eyeful.

“I like your hair better this way.” His words were soft, almost caressing. And not what she expected. Stunned, she turned, automatically reaching up and grasping a few of her locks. It was then she glimpsed the natural chestnut color of her hair.
Ah, right
. Last night, she’d worn the black wig.

“Oh, thanks.” She dropped her hair. “I haven’t had time to put the wig back on yet.”

“Right.” He nodded and strolled over to one of the high-back, overstuffed chairs facing the couch. After plopping down, he stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. He looked almost ridiculous, so much man wedged into such a narrow chair. Arran laced his fingers across his chest, as if he’d settled in for the evening, and announced, “Guess you’d better finish getting ready.” She gripped the back of the couch and bit down on her molars to keep from screaming.

“I didn’t agree to go anywhere with you.” It was all she could do to push the words out of her throat and not strangle him where he sat.

“Well, lass, if you intend to go back to Wicked Ways and search for your sister, the only way you’re getting through that door is with me as your date.”

“Your
what
?” She had to refrain from reaching up to manually close her mouth, because it had to be hanging open like a sprung hinge.

He leaned forward in the chair. “My date,” he reiterated.

“That’s what I thought you said.” She came from behind the couch and leaned against the arm, still keeping her distance. “This is your brilliant plan to get my sister back?” She smirked. “We start dating?”

He cocked his head. “No, smartass.” His eyes narrowed, but the fire there wasn’t smoldering from anger.

“Hey!” She straightened and grinned. “Watch it, asshole.”

Arran smiled—really smiled. Warmth spread through the center of her chest, the heat of it drawing her hand to her heart. She worked her palm over the sensation, and just for a moment, the tension in the room mellowed. Lowering her hand, she wished they could always be this way when together. Who knew, maybe even become friends? Something in her heart told her he really could use one. And nothing would make her happier than to be that friend. Even if he was a bullheaded Neanderthal most of the time.

“I thought about this last night. The best way to search for your sister and keep you safe is for you to appear taken.”

“Taken…” She raised her brows. “Kind of an extreme word choice, don’t you think?”

He pulled his legs in, stood, and made his way over to her. The way he moved wasn’t as simple as putting one leg in front of the other. It was as if the room buckled under his will. The walls collapsed inward, and space and time bent to bring him nearer to his target. Was it an illusion? She didn’t think so. He
was
magick.

A single callous finger lifted her chin, and his smoldering gaze held hers. Her breath caught, waiting on his next move.

“I think
taken
…” His words were slow and deliberate. “In this situation, is the perfect word.” He blinked and pulled his hand back. “If you’re with me, no one is going to make a move on you. We both know there’s a real possibility here that your search for Alexandria may lead us straight to Markus and Marguerite. It only makes sense we work together.” He stepped back and nodded toward the stairs. “So go on—finish, and then we’ll leave.”

She headed for the stairs. The cool wood felt good under her bare feet as she jogged silently up the steps. But it did little to chill the warmth brewing inside. Her broad smile reflected in the mirror. A date. She was going out with Arran. Not the
normal
kind of first date a girl envisioned for herself, but for her, the word normal didn’t exist anymore.

…

Markus plunged the extra-large purple vibrator deep into Marguerite’s ass once more, adding a hard suck with his mouth onto the head of her clitoris. She screamed, arching her back off the bundle of furs that lined the floor in her bedroom. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her sharp nails boring into his flesh. The searing burn clouded his vision. A series of quakes rocked her body around him. Fuck. She was in her glory.

His cock ached to be the hard length sliding home inside her. But there were times when Marguerite liked her toys. Who was he to complain, when he got the pleasure of fucking her with them? In the end, she would reward him—if he pleased her well.

Her tremors cooled, and she uncurled her fingers. After pulling the vibrator from her lube-slickened hole, he dropped it onto a towel beside them and crawled up her body until he straddled her waist. Her pupils filled her eyes, leaving only a small ring of emerald green visible around the perimeter. With a hiss, he allowed his fangs to drop fully into sight. A wicked grin spread across her face, and she tilted her head to the side, exposing the pulsing artery at her neck. Markus dove in and struck.

Her hot, ancient blood burned a path through his veins. An erotic high that never failed to singe his brain. He drank in greedy swallows. So hungry for her again, as if he’d been starved for years.

A part of him hoped that each time she fed him, he would take enough to satisfy the craving. Permanently. But within days, the need for her would come back, like an itch under his skin that he could never quite scratch. If he ignored the call too long, the need went deeper, until it was an all-consuming pain, ripping his gut in two. The simple fact was—Marguerite owned him.

Markus reared back from her throat and licked the remaining traces of her blood from his lips. His cock twitched, hard and eager for release. Marguerite lifted her hand and stroked his aching length. A slow, promise-laden grin curled on her mouth. He inched forward along her body, her fingers never losing their grip, until the head of his cock bumped Marguerite’s red lips. She dropped her hand away as she opened her mouth, slid her tongue out, and licked the crown of his shaft.

“Shit!” he hissed. Markus’s heart pounded like a fucking bass drum in his ears, jacked into overdrive from the combination of her blood and the raging need boiling in his balls. “You want a taste of this, love?” Markus fisted his cock and stroked the flushed and leaking head of his erection across her lower lip. Marguerite pulled her lip in and sucked clean the traces of fluid he’d left behind.

“Delicious,” she purred. Marguerite reached out and seized his hips, her long nails biting into his flesh. “Give it to me, Markus. Now. I want you fucking my mouth and your cum filling my throat.” Her fangs glistened in the candlelight with her words, and her long black hair, like a raven’s wing, fanned out beneath her head.

His balls tightened in anticipation, and he placed a brief kiss to her upturned lips. He pulled back but hovered above her mouth. With his tongue, he brushed one of her exposed fangs before adding, “Play nice, Marguerite, and you’ll have me.”

She smirked beneath his lips. “I’m always nice. You can trust me with your dick, warrior.”

Every muscle locked. Why did she insist on calling him that? She was the epitome of a sadist, throwing his former title in his face when his cock ached for release. Marguerite wanted to watch him squirm over his past betrayal and then get her thrills while she fucked the anguish temporarily out of his mind.

“Don’t call me that,” he growled through his clenched jaw.

She gasped. “Whoops. My bad.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why I can’t seem to remember you don’t like that.” One corner of her mouth turned up in a wicked half grin. “I have to admit, I love the way the title rolls off my tongue when you’re fucking me.” She cocked her head. “You don’t mind. Do you, lover?”

Before he could form a response, she lifted her head, opened her mouth, and engulfed his cock. He gasped from the sudden electric sensation shooting up his spine and knocking all reason out of his head. She sucked hard, yanking at the tenuous string he held on his pending climax.
Fuck.
He wasn’t going to last long.

Dropping his head back between his shoulders, he focused on trying to stall his inevitable loss of control. His hips rocked in and out of her mouth. Shit, yeah. Her tongue, and the sharp edge of her fangs stinging the ridge of his cock, were blowing his mind.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He lifted his head and glanced to his right. Just inside the doorway, Enrique stood stroking the large bulge in his pants. The other vampire’s stare was fixed to where his cock disappeared inside Marguerite’s mouth. Markus stifled a groan in the back of his throat. Not from the pleasure between his legs, but from the confirmation of his suspicions.

Enrique wanted him.

And the feeling was most definitely
not
mutual.

Markus had done things under the influence of bloodlust during his time with Marguerite. Orgies were not unheard of. But females were his preference. Judging by the blatant way he stood there, making his attraction—and intentions—evident, Markus had a feeling Enrique was not going to be happy or understanding.

This would be another rejection Enrique would have to—well—swallow. He and Marguerite couldn’t afford to have him as an enemy, especially with the Enclave breathing down their neck. Marguerite’s former commander was quite old and powerful. In fact, if it were not for Markus’s steady diet of Marguerite’s blood, Enrique would be a fearsome opponent.

“Fuck!” The sharp sting of fangs scraping down his shaft jerked him back to the blowjob Marguerite was performing on his cock. He shoved his hands into her hair and stared at the red stains streaking his cock as it slid in and out of her mouth. “You said you would play nice,” he growled.