5 - Together To Join (3 page)

“You didn’t disclaim the arrogant. The egotistical. Or the stubborn. That’s a start. We’ll just go with it.”

Her fingers trailed along each arm, and his muscles responded with a twitch to everywhere she touched. Despite the control he exerted on them. Despite everything. This was worse than torture. Her fingers contained a fascination and eroticism he’d never before experienced.

“Are you going to cease stalling and tell me where it is now?”

“What?” He didn’t have to pretend the confusion. His entire body felt it.

“Your transmitter.”

She’d lowered her body atop him until her breasts nearly touched. Garrick kept from pushing his chest up to force a connection by sheer willpower. And then she nudged his head to the side and slid what was probably her tongue along his neck, raising a riot of shivers with every touch. He more than desired what she was doing. Every fiber of him craved it. Massively. With an urgency that resembled the need for air. He felt the sting as he realized she opened a cut, and every lick of her tongue caused a pulsing of his entire frame. It was better than the nirvana of sensation she’d sent earlier. And worse. There didn’t seem any way to fight it.

“Hmm. You taste wonderful. Slightly…salty.”

“My ankle!”

She lifted her head. He sobbed at the loss before he could stay it. And then fought that urge down.

“Your…ankle?”

“The transmitter is in my left ankle.”

“Liar. I already checked. There’s nothing on your ankle. Although I do appreciate the way you laced your boots cross-wise. Makes them easier to slice laces for quick removal. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

He felt her moving away from him as she spoke, trailing her hand down his left leg. He didn’t dare open his mouth. The loss of her touch at his throat was too visceral. Too near pain. Not the pain of the shock he got every time he tried to harm her. Deeper. Heart-throbbing deep. And that scared the hell out of him.

She’s dead, Garrick. A corpse
.

“I don’t see it.”

The soft touch of her breath accompanied the words against his leg, sending a frenzy of sensation all the way to his scalp. This was insane. He couldn’t possibly feel air from her. She didn’t breathe.

“Tattoo.”

“That’s not going to be easy to find. They buried it under a tattoo?”

“No. It is the tattoo. In the shape of a wing.”

She huffed what was probably another chuckle. “For an angel, perhaps?”

“Hawk.”

“I like my explanation better. Ah. Here it is. I don’t know how I missed it earlier. It’s warm.”

“My entire body is warm, lady. Because I’m not dead like you.”

“Save all your hate for later. I’ve got to get this off you. I’ll have to scrape it. Good thing I have experience.”

“In what?”

“Trauma care.”

“Get real, lady. The day a vampire works in trauma care is the day I turn tranny.”

She snickered. “I don’t
work
trauma care. I only attend sessions of it. How else would I know to slice your clothing from you? Or how many cc’s of blood I could drain to render you unconscious? You didn’t make my job easy, either, but it was your fault in the first place.”

“How do you figure?”

“It was your arrow in me.
N’est-ce pas
?”

An arc of pain scorched his ankle, but then she cooled it with something. Garrick didn’t look. He didn’t really want to know.

“You really are delicious. You know that?”

“The trauma stuff. Explain that.” And anything else that would mute the rippling sensation flowing up his leg, reaching his thigh…spreading toward his groin again, giving her every indication he wanted her to continue, despite the effort of reining it in. There wasn’t any reason for such unmitigated desire. For a dead thing. None.

“You humans. So senseless.”

“Senseless. Yeah. Right.” The words vibrated off his vocal chords, went through his lips, and still sounded like groans. She might be dead. And a corpse. And rotten through-and-through. But she was sending sensual ecstasy with just the lap of her tongue. Or the sweet suction of her lips. Or whatever she’d done to his ankle. He’d never come up against such unbridled lust and need. He was probably lucky he wasn’t sobbing.

“You think nothing of putting yourself in a vehicle capable of achieving immense speed. Without safety harnesses. Like cattle.”

“Buses? We’re talking buses now?”

“And trains, and taxis…small aircraft. Mmm…”

That purr could be his undoing. Garrick slammed a hand to his crotch and pushed, sending hurt where he wanted succor; restraint when he needed freedom; control onto what was becoming all-out hunger. She wasn’t just a vampire. She was pure, raw, primal desire encased in female form. And he was male. And readied.

She’s a corpse, Garrick.
Damn! Even that wasn’t working.

“Ooh. You’re trembling. Does that excite you?”

Hell had to be better than this. Garrick tightened every cell in his body against the onslaught that came of having her lap at his flesh with her tongue. And then he yanked muscles tighter, envisioning a desert, a sea of dust, a cauldron of moisture-sucking flour. Anything to divert the blood-flow from where it was settling. Anything.

“If you weren’t a walking corpse? And I wasn’t a hunter, you mean?” He’d envisioned the arid well enough. It reflected in his voice.

“Do I feel dead to you, Garrick?”

Another moment and he was going to be slamming her onto her back and finding out the status of her virginity. He wondered if she was as clueless as it sounded.

“Uh…”

“We need to leave. And soon. I’m more than willing to banter words with you, and other…things. I don’t think you’re altogether unwilling, either. Are you?”

Great. She wasn’t clueless.

“Trauma side-effects. Nothing more. I thought you were experienced.”

“Oh, I am. I’ve even seen this reaction occasionally. But never quite this…large. And hard. Not nearly…as hungry.”

Shit.
 

“Come. I’ll carry you.”

“You’re joking.”

“Fireman’s carry. I’ve done it before. Often.”

“At these trauma sites?”

“Yes.”

She gave that purr again. Damn her. Damn. Damn. Damn.

“Not everyone dies at the scene, you know.”

“The scene of what?”

“An accident. Some of them die…later.”

Later.
He’d fixate on what that meant. When he had his sanity back.

“I don’t have to kill to feed, Hunter. You humans do it for me. All I have to do is listen to a police scanner. And wait. And get it handed to me. Gratis.”

He coiled into a ball, tucked his knees to his chin, ankles to his ass, arms looped about the whole. His howl of disgust and revulsion permeated the cavern before it got sucked away by the damp walls.

“What would you care? They were DOA anyway. Even without me.”

He had to hand it to her again. She really knew how to kill a hard-on. No wonder she was a virgin.

CHAPTER THREE

She probably should have consulted a real architect, rather than relying so much on her memory. And she should have factored in her age at the recollection. The remade castle didn’t resemble her family’s ancestral estate. It was too Gothic. Too spacious. And much too…vast.

Angelique studied the soaring ceiling for a moment, the elegant arches fifty-five feet above her head, the long balcony, and the thin clerestory windows. Hers were fashioned of etched glass and only glowed with light if she turned the switch. It made an effect resembling weak sunlight, but only if she’d remembered to change the light bulbs. Right now everything was lit by a myriad of candles, shedding light about from a vast array of candelabra.

She lowered her eyes down an Ionic column to the heart-shaped bed at the base of it, looking miniature in all that space, as well as very feminine…especially with the man ensconced atop it. Angelique approached silently, skimming the floor with heelless slippers, making such little noise the rustling satin of her overskirt was easily noted. If she hesitated, she’d probably hear the sound echo.

His groan definitely echoed. She hastened to his side, swooping onto a stool beside the bed, watching and listening for the next sign from him. He was such a beautiful specimen! If men could be called that, of course. Beautiful. There were more words she could use, all of them in the same vein. Stunning. Handsome. Masculine. He was massive. Strong. Her eyes roamed where her fingers daren’t, fully appreciating a physique rivaling that of a Michelangelo masterpiece. Thick muscle covered just about every bit of him, while lightly tanned skin covered the whole. She hadn’t dared to check beneath the briefs he still wore, but she guessed from the bulge that he’d been gifted there, as well. She sighed, and then his hoarse whisper caught all her attention.

“Where…am I?”

“
Chateau de la Montagne
.”

“Sounds…French.”

His voice was groggy. Disoriented. Weak. That was her fault. She’d drained a lot of blood this last time, but he was a large man and very obstinate.

“I don’t speak French.”

“It means ‘Castle’.”

“It looks…like a church.”

“I know.”

“You…the vampire lady?”

“Yes.”

“You live here?”

“Yes.”

“In a castle that resembles…a cathedral?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know why I ask. Sacrilegious mean anything to you?”

“Yes.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

His eyes were a near match to the Caribbean Ocean, deep and vivid blue. It was especially visual when he lifted his head and stared at her. She’d taken a long time this evening with her appearance, donning a gown of eggplant-shaded satin, worn tight to the bosom, belted in place just beneath her breasts. She’d plaited two braids beside both ears and wrapped them atop her head, then spent nearly an hour curling the long white-kissed blond locks into a mass of curls that looked slightly mussed as they trailed down her back and over her shoulders.

She’d done it to see the look in his eye and on his face. Angelique couldn’t help the rush of pure pleasure she experienced before he dropped his head back to the pillows and groaned again. She rose, hovering above him.

“What is it?”

“Who…are you?”

“I drained some of your blood, Garrick. Not enough for memory loss.”

“Why didn’t you drain it all?”

“I can’t control you if I do that.”

“Control me? God damn—.”

“I couldn’t just let you go! Not after finding you. Don’t you see?”

He didn’t answer, although the deep gargling noise in his throat probably meant one. She watched him strain against his bonds, putting every bit of his frame on display for her, and turning it red with a flush of blood as well. Angelique sucked at the canines that lengthened as she watched and waited for him to tire or realize how fruitless struggling was.

She had to wait a long time, too.

She was pulsing in place with need and longing, her vision riveted to masculine perfection before he gave up. The man wasn’t just beautiful. He was god-like. If she still believed, she’d pay homage. As it was, all she could do was gape and pant, putting every bit of her fangs on display. His look of horror didn’t even stay the feeling, although his revulsion muted it slightly. Not much, but enough to keep her from latching onto his flesh and sucking even more of his fluid.

“You can just wipe that look off your face, lady. That’s never happening. Hell no. Not in this lifetime.”

“You hungry?” she asked.

“No.”

“You should be. You need sustenance.”

“So you can feed some more off me?”

“Uh…” It was more to keep him strong, but his words made her mouth water in anticipation. She didn’t know how to answer.

“Who tied me?”

“I did.”

“Bullshit. With a capital B.”

He’d decided to try the bonds again. She watched him push his entire body upward, turning the flesh beneath his straps white with the effort. She sucked at her fangs until he stopped and flopped back onto the mattress.

“Your words are profane and show lack of breeding.”

“So?”

“I’m not used to such. At least…not in such a rampant fashion.”

“You going to cut these ropes and let me go, then?”

“No.”

“Then you might as well get used to it.”

He spat the last word and then lunged against his bonds again. With the exact same result as before. They held and he ended flat on his back, breathing hard, while looking supremely flushed. And incredibly tasty. Warm. Inviting. His life blood was a perfection of taste and texture for her. She should probably warn him.

“What did you use?”

His question brought her out of the reverie. She blinked twice before moving her gaze from the exposed portion of his throat to the area just above his lip. She didn’t want to look into his eyes. The disgust in his voice told her what she’d see.

“Whatever I needed.”

His cheeks puffed out as he loosed a sigh, putting little brown whiskers on display. Masculine. The man was absolutely perfect male.

“I mean, for these ropes. What the hell did you use?”

“Oh. Hosiery.”

“I’m being held down with pantyhose? Argh!”

She had no trouble deciphering that gargled cry as he lurched up, thrashing against spandex and nylon. Angelique watched the bonds etch into his flesh, crisscrossing his chest and abdomen, and each thigh and ankle before he gave up.

“I didn’t know what else to use. I don’t like seeing you tied down! But…I couldn’t risk chancing it.”

“What?”

“Losing you.”

“I will never…live this down. Ever. You might as well just kill me now.”

“Really?”

He was breathing hard and turned his head toward her to tip his chin down. The result was an upward-cast glare that sent menace. Virility. And anger. All of it barely leashed. If Angelique were the swooning type, she’d have probably done it.

“No. Not really. It’s an expression.”

“Pity.”

“You can just stop there, lady.”