Authors: Toni Kelly
“Can you carry me...like the night after Blood Bar?”
He stilled. Was she serious? Did she actually want him to touch her after what those men attempted to do?
She stood, chin lowered and face averted. His turtleneck dwarfed her small frame, making her appear more delicate.
“Are you sure?” He moved forward, slowly and purposefully, hesitant in case she changed her mind.
Her full bottom lip quivered, drawing his attention to drops of blood at one corner. She exhaled softly. “Please, I— Don’t make me ask again.”
“Shh.” With one arm wrapped around her back, he scooped her up, cradled her to his chest. She weighed nothing. “I have you, pet. No one will hurt you now.”
“Thank you.” She rubbed her cheek against him. “I don’t think you’re as bad as you believe yourself to be.” Her whisper caressed his throat.
He bent his head and brushed his lips along her hairline. “I wish you were right.”
* * * *
Savannah lied to herself. Technically it wasn’t a lie, simply a choice not to speak the truth aloud. Her attackers had realized it too. Their eyes had widened with fear as they’d watched Luke. He was different. Faster, stronger. His scent drifted to her nose as she buried her face against his chest.
Right now, she didn’t care. Angel or demon, god or minion, he was her savior. He carried her through the city back to his apartment building, refusing to let her walk.
“Please,” she said. “You can’t take the stairs. Eight flights of stairs is too much. Put me down, we’ll take the elevator.”
“Not a chance. You asked me to carry you, did you not?”
“I didn’t mean for you to walk up eight flights. I’m fine. I didn’t hurt my legs.”
Luke sighed. “Look, I know you do not like the elevator. Let me carry you.”
She didn’t protest any further. Couldn’t, when his bottomless gaze held her captive. He carried her up through the stairwell then down the hall to his front door. He shifted her in his hands to open the lock, fingers shaking as he fumbled with the keys. The lines between his brows grew pronounced. She’d never seen him this agitated.
“Please, Luke. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Damn key.” Slipping his keychain into a pocket, he shoved the door back. As it swung wide, he walked to the sofa and set her down.
“Your door. You broke it.” Perhaps concerning herself over his walk upstairs was unnecessary, considering he’d done that and damaged his door without breaking a sweat.
“I can fix the lock tomorrow.” He seemed to move rigidly and with restraint, as he folded several cubes of ice in a moist cloth. “Here, put this on your mouth, wipe away any blood.”
She did as asked and drew in a breath at the cold sting of ice on her cut lip. “It’s not bleeding anymore.”
“Good.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze as he leaned back along the counter, gripping the edge of the black and gold granite top. The ridges of his knuckles paled. Gone was his cool, calm demeanor. “Forgive me.”
Forgive him, for what? She lifted her head. “You keep apologizing to me and I still have no idea what I’m supposed to forgive you for.”
“I should have been there sooner.”
“None of this is your fault.” She stood and walked toward him. “If anything, it was my own fault. I don’t want to think what would have happened if you hadn’t arrived.”
Luke pushed off the counter and turned his back to her. “I will be inside my room if you need me.”
God, she didn’t want him to leave. Not when everything was still so fresh. The stocky man’s hands on her, his sour smell. She slapped at her arms as if it would make the feeling of repulsion disappear. She could have been raped, or worse. “I didn’t think. Maybe I deserved what I got.”
He faced her. “No. Christ.” His words wafted out as no more than a whisper. “If I could turn back time, change what happened, I would.” He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest and shoulders trembling.
“Do it,” she said, lifting her chin. She had to be crazy but desire swelled within her. He grounded her, his arms a barrier from the world and all its evil.
“What?” Luke’s midnight gaze shot up and met hers. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want you to erase the feel of them.” She stepped toward him, suddenly confident and uncaring whether her actions were logical. She wanted to feel him, to touch him.
“You are not ready.” He bowed his head. “You are reacting after what happened.”
“Please.” She couldn’t handle another man telling her what she could or couldn’t do. The confidence ebbed, and she took a deep breath. “P-please, do this for me? Touch me, hold me.”
With a sigh, he ran a hand along his temple. “Shit. Either way, I damn myself.”
Her back hit the wall and his mouth crushed hers as his body surrounded her, pushing forward. He leaned with strong forearms along the wall on either side of her head then moved closer, kissed her more deeply.
He was right. She should have been shocked or frightened or angry at him for dominating her so completely after what she’d been through. And yet she couldn’t be any of those. His touch made her feel light, exhilarated. A pitchy whimper left her as her limbs melted beneath him. “Luke.”
“Pet, you are so sweet.” He kissed her jaw. “So good.” He pushed away from her slowly, his expression pained. “Not right. Damn it. I cannot do this.”
Perhaps the sudden harshness in his tone or the coldness of his words had made her freeze, but she hadn’t been right for Ben either. Lost in limbo, she couldn’t turn away from the passion still rippling through her or the cold cruelty in Luke’s gaze.
What had she done? “Luke?”
“Please go, Savannah.” He turned away and pressed a hand along the counter. “Pardon my forwardness. It shall not happen again.”
“Stop this. Stop this now. I’m tired of apologies and your ridiculous way of speaking. Why are you playing games? What is it you want from me?”
“Go.” He said more forcefully this time.
“No, I won’t, I...” Oh, God. What was she doing? He wasn’t her lover and this wasn’t a lovers’ quarrel. He was her boss and he’d just told her to leave.
Never beg another man again.
Nodding past a lump in her throat, she turned and ran to her room. She closed the door and leaned against it. No big deal, it was only a job, right? Fired, and only a few days as a companion. She lifted her hand and rubbed the center of her chest. But, God. A raw sob broke from deep within her. When had losing a job hurt so much?
11
Life: It is about the gift not the package it comes in.
—Dennis P. Costea Jr.
The scent of death intermingled with exhaust fumes. The gush of blood through Luke’s lips slowed to a trickle, a signal the body he held had been bled dry. Blood went stale within a matter of seconds. He cradled the male’s neck and pulled away, closing his eyes as a wave of ecstasy rushed through him. He laid the tall, thin male next to his dead companion. Their glassy eyes, cold as the cobblestones beneath them, stared at the night sky blanketing the city. The moon shone bright, even over the lights of Rome.
Luke pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sides of his mouth. Crimson stained the pale yellow cotton. Tossing it on top of the shorter man’s barrel-like torso, he stood. Savannah’s attackers were dead.
He should have felt a greater sense of justice in their deaths and yet drinking them dry did nothing to alleviate the hollow ache in his stomach. A baser need within him hungered for more torture and destruction. Only the terror in their expressions as he’d exited the shadows gave him a small measure of satisfaction. Anger and waning control had made the attack messy, according to vampire standards. Both men wore puckered gashes along the side of their necks where his fangs had ripped through their skin. Neither man had made it difficult, their bodies paralyzed before they’d realized what struck them.
Luke left the bodies lying in the alleyway and returned to his apartment. Leaving them so visible was not a wise decision, but if he touched them again, he’d rip them to pieces. To do so would only confirm him a monster.
Savannah had not left her room, and he sighed with relief. Despite the satisfaction of his kills, his thoughts remained disturbed and unpredictable. She was not like others. Everything about her drove him crazy and yet he felt for her.
Reaching into the freezer, he removed a bottle of Grey Goose and poured himself a tumbler full of the clear liquid. He sat on a living room sofa and downed his drink, relishing the sting of ice-cold vodka as it numbed his lips, tongue and throat. He tipped the bottle and filled his glass again. Drowning himself in alcohol for the unforeseeable future held great appeal. After all, he hadn’t been tanked in decades.
“Cheers.” He lifted the glass in toast to the darkness. The comfort night brought was so enjoyable. Gone with his humanity were blurred images and the sentiment of being lost. Vampire eyes gave the night life...a whole new rhythm and familiarity. Walls seemed to breathe as they hugged his living room and kitchen. The surface of the coffee table gleamed, its curves encrusted in detailed designs. Like vampires themselves, these material luxuries were beautiful but without life.
Reclining, he rested his head on the sofa and pressed a remote control to open the blinds. Moonlight streamed in behind him, highlighting the rest of the living room furniture and the white marble tiles of the kitchen floor. The rag Savannah had used on her cut mouth lay on the granite island across the room. The faint scent of her blood tempted him. How had life gotten this complicated? Merely a kiss, some touching.
He did not need Broderick to confirm she was too good for him, although he would be having a serious talk about his investigations. No way was she the lady portrayed in Broderick’s file. Jumpy, high-strung, a sensitive wreck—definitely traits of a victim. And she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known.
He took a sip from his glass and froze as a door creaked down the hall. Savannah. He breathed the clean scent of her as she got closer. She had showered. His head swam and he sank back onto the couch.
Coward
.
Long, pale legs crossed several feet before him. A jagged scar ran the length of one thigh, slipping right beneath the hem of her silk shorts. Where had she found such seductive miniature shorts? Those certainly were not amongst the articles of clothing he’d purchased.
She wore a matching silk camisole, the dark waves of her hair loose down her back. Oblivious to his presence, she turned on a dim light near the sink, walked straight to the refrigerator and pulled out an apple. Next, from a drawer, a thick wooden cutting board and knife. Face flushed, she brushed her hair back and twisted it over one shoulder.
Sitting amongst the shadows, he waited for her to realize he was there. Then the moment she became aware of him flooded his senses. He regretted knowing he stole her calm. Her pulse heightened and the sweet scent of blood inundated the air as the knife she cut with slipped and sliced through her skin.
She snapped her emerald gaze up to his. “Luke.”
His sluggish mind did not heed logic or caution. Vaulting off the sofa, he strode toward her. Too fast.
Slow down, you are scaring her.
Mouth open, she backed away. “What are you doing awake? In here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” His words slurred slightly. One more bottle and he would surely be the veritable idiot he felt. “A bit early, is it not?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Her gaze moved over him, pausing on the expanse of his chest showing beneath his open jacket. He had yet to put a shirt on after rescuing her earlier. “Are you drunk?”
“Bloody hell, woman, do not sound so incredulous. Unfortunately, I am not quite pissed. I should be there soon enough.”
“Have you been drinking here this entire time?”
Her tone reminded him of Victoria’s when he’d spent an extra hour hanging out with mates at gaming hells. He scowled. Christ, why the hell was he thinking about Victoria? “I have not. And if I had been, it would not be any of your business.”
She wrapped a white napkin around her thumb. Red seeped through.
“You are bleeding.” Again. He unleashed a stream of air, a force of habit rather than a need to breathe. Even with two recent kills sating his urge, she pushed him to the edge.
“So.” She stepped back. “I can take care of myself.”