Before Dawn (6 page)

With practiced efficiency, Ryan checked then strapped the weapons laid out on the bed to his body. Two semi-automatic handguns into the double shoulder holster, a revolver in the ankle holster, extra magazines in the custom utility belt, two daggers in the sheaths along his—

He knew she was in the doorway before she spoke.

“You look like you’re going to wage a war.”

Ryan glanced up. Mercy was hugging one side of the doorframe as if she needed it to keep her upright—or she simply wanted to maintain the distance between them. Her eyes were shadowed with a wariness that made his stomach knot. No sane woman would want to see the tableau of him readying himself to go out and do things that required guns and knives and sundry other weapons. And as soon as he dusted Edmond, he knew she was going to go back to her life and try to forget any of this night ever happened. He would be relegated to that strongbox in her head where she locked away the unpleasantness in her life. He’d seen her do it.

Two months ago, her lover had admitted to cheating on her. She’d driven him into another woman’s arms with her emotional detachment, her ex had claimed, and Ryan had wondered how the idiot had been so blind. Mercy didn’t do big displays of emotion, but she had rearranged her schedule to play nursemaid, cook, and personal assistant for four days when her ex had fallen ill.

After hearing the melodramatic confession, Mercy had calmly told him to leave and never come back. No tears, no recriminations. Afterward, she’d spent the rest of her evening working out the details for the museum exhibit. Her light had burned into the early morning hours.

Ryan found himself wishing for the well-armored woman he’d seen and admired in the past instead of the one now before him, vulnerable and uncertain, her shields torn down by that monster and the necessity of him, Ryan, in her life.

In the beginning, he’d told himself if he was vigilant enough, Mercy would never need to know about the world beyond her own reality. Vampires would remain the product of overactive imaginations and teen fantasies. She would never know he’d been watching over her, studying her every move, memorizing every facet of her.

And from the first, everything within him rebelled at the thought of passing through her life unnoticed.

But this was worse.

“Please be careful.” Her voice was soft, barely reaching his ears.

“I’ve been doing this for more than a decade. I’m not easy to kill.” Even though he’d made more mistakes tonight than he had during his first year. Like going after Edmond with his bare hands at the museum. But the fury clouding his brain at the time had impaired his judgment. In fact, the memory of it threatened to impair his judgment right this moment.

The slender fingers curled around the wood flexed. His response obviously didn’t soothe her, but he wasn’t feeling like being all that nice.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

She hesitated, then waved a hand at the bed. “I’m sorry for…putting you in that position.”

He stiffened. “Really?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft. “Or are you just sorry you fucked me?”

She flinched, but Ryan didn’t care. He could see the retreat in her eyes and was across the room in two strides. He snagged her wrist and yanked her inside the room. She gasped. Her back flattened against the wall, and she stared at him, eyes wide. He loomed over her, well inside her personal space, and slapped his free hand on the wall beside her head, effectively caging her in.

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy.”

“I—”

“But I’m no fucking hero either. I could’ve stopped you, but I didn’t want to. I wanted you.” His voice lowered, turned husky, as he closed the gap between their bodies. Her teeth sank into a corner of her bottom lip, but she was unable to bite back the soft moan. “I still want you.”

Her lashes lowered, veiling her gleaming eyes, and the fingers of her captured hand curled into a fist.

“I saw you with the Suit,” he said between gritted teeth. Even now the memory made him want to take something—some
one
—apart.

“Suit?” she echoed wonderingly.

“Roberts.”

“Oh.”

“Every time you brought him home, I wanted to kill him.”

She blinked, coming out of her daze. “He was a mistake from the beginning.”

Ryan bent down until his mouth brushed her temple. “Am I?” he asked roughly, forcing the words through constricted vocal cords.

She went still, not even daring to breathe.

“Mercy?”

Her chest moved. “I-I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I don’t know you.”

His lips touched the delicate rim of her ear, the merest brush of skin on skin, yet she inhaled sharply. “You know enough,” he said, and rocked his hips forward.

Her eyes went to half-mast. “Lust,” she breathed, turning her head, her parted lips seeking his.

“I can work with that,” murmured Ryan, and licked her plump bottom lip.

Ryan McGinnis drew back, and without thought, Mercy followed the movement. He made a rough sound laced with amusement. Beyond caring about anything other than the sudden emptiness throbbing between her legs, she widened her stance and pushed up onto her tiptoes, rubbing the front of her body against the front of his. It was a little movement, but the reaction it garnered was tenfold. The fingers around her wrist tightened, his body crushed hers as if he wanted to meld their two bodies into one, and his hard mouth clamped over hers.

His kiss was a brazen assault that would’ve driven her head back had the wall not been behind it. His tongue claimed her mouth, venturing deep, exploring all the different textures. Her free arm lashed around his neck as she returned the kiss, dueled with his tongue, sucked it deeper into her mouth.

With the heat of need coiling inside her, her pinioned wrist struggled for release, and he complied. He broke off the kiss, leaving her panting breathlessly. He fell to his knees, and the sound of protest died on her lips as her hands found his hair. With a single yank, he unbuttoned her fly. He curled his fingers around the waistband of her jeans and pulled them down, taking her panties with them, tearing them in his haste. He tore her shoes off before freeing her ankles from her jeans and panties.

He cupped her hips, and his voracious mouth covered her sex. Mercy moaned, her fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair. He wedged a shoulder underneath her thigh, opening her even more as he kissed and licked her labia. Mercy sank her teeth into her bottom lip but small mewling sounds still escaped as her body twisted this way and that, needing to get closer because it wasn’t enough, needing to get away because it was too much.

His hands slid around to cradle her buttocks, to arch her pelvis. He held that part of her still and darted his tongue inside her. She cried out with pleasure.

“Oh, God…please.”

She begged some more, the sounds almost sobs, and tried to writhe and thrust her hips forward to impale herself on his tongue. He obliged, and she cried out again. Then he shifted, took her heavy and throbbing clit between his lips and sucked. She came, her mind immersed in pleasure and her body lost to convulsions.

Before the last shudder racked her body, he shot to his feet and plunged inside her, his mouth smothering her startled gasp, sharing with her the taste of her own secretions. He held himself still within her, and she savored the sensation of being filled so fully her entire head swam with bliss.

When it was no longer enough, when an aching emptiness throbbed within her, she broke away from his mouth and panted his name. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, wanting to tear through his clothes to get to his bare skin, and her legs wrapped around his hips like a vise.

With a harsh, wordless sound, he withdrew, then began to thrust. She buried her face in his neck and whispered his name over and over again. His skin was hot and damp against her lips, and she couldn’t resist tasting him, loving the salty flavor on her tongue. He thrust harder, faster, pounding her into the wall. The tension within her began to build, becoming unbearable, and she told him so.

When her head swam again, her pleasure-fuddled brain took a moment to realize he was moving. Then her world tilted, her hands fell from his shoulders, and the softness of the bed was underneath her back, the hardness of his body between her legs. He was hunched over her, driving in and out. His hands were planted on either side of her head, his eyes shut tight, his face a mask of agony and rapture.

“More…take more…”

His words were guttural, just barely discernible. But she heard and understood and didn’t know how she could take any more of him. Then he moved, shifted, rolled, and took her with him, and she found herself looking down at him, straddling his hips with his cock high up inside her, deeper than before.

“Yes,” he hissed, and hands clamped on her hips, bucked upward again and again. She braced her hands on his ridged abdomen and let her head fall forward, her hair curtaining her face. She tried to move, tried to help, but he wouldn’t let her. She sobbed. Another change in position, and she became frantic as the need inside her became a wild, feverish thing.

He was above her again, a broad hand splayed across the bare skin of her middle as if to hold her down. His heat seared her, within and without. Her nails dug into his forearms as he quickened the pace.

“Close,” he rasped, his teeth clenched. “Almost…”

His movements became frenzied as control deserted him. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was too much, too intense. She couldn’t—

It shattered brilliantly. As if from a distance, she heard herself cry out in climax.

A low groan reached her ears, then the body above her shuddered.

He was gone when she woke, sticky and sore and knowing further sleep would elude her. Mercy rolled to the edge of the bed, got to her feet, and headed for the bathroom. Five minutes under a punishing spray of water and she emerged, flushed pink with heat on the outside and cold as ice on the inside. Despite Ryan’s assurances, how could she do anything but worry until he returned? No matter how strong, how fast he was, he was still only human. And Edmond…Edmond was not.

Wrapped in a towel, Mercy searched through the drawers of the dresser in the room next to hers until she found a T-shirt that obviously belonged to Ryan. She slipped into the garment, which hung down to her thighs, and forgoing panties, pulled on the jeans Ryan had stripped off her earlier. She found the sneakers, one in a corner and another under the bed, forced her feet into them, and went downstairs.

Savage was still in the kitchen, pouring steaming hot water from a kettle into a thick mug.

“Ryan’ll be okay,” he said without looking up. After returning the kettle to the stovetop, he stirred the contents of the mug with a spoon, the clinking of metal hitting earthenware almost musical. “He’s been doing this for a while.”

Feeling oddly anxious, Mercy moved deeper into the room to lean a little against the island counter, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “That’s what he said to me.”

The stirring stopped. Savage looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “You two exchanged actual words?”

She could feel the blush crawl up her face as her glance skittered away. It fell to the green, barrel-shaped mug and its contents. She stared as the curls of steam rose and evaporated. Savage pushed the mug toward her.

“Lemon, honey, and a little something to make you feel better.”

She automatically wrapped her hands around the cup, not realizing just how chilled she was until the heat seeped into the flesh of her palms. She dragged it closer and lifted it. After blowing lightly across the surface, she took a tentative sip. It was too hot, but she drank it anyway. There was a hint of saltiness, and she wondered what Savage had added in addition to the lemon and honey. Then the liquid warmth slid down her esophagus and pooled in her stomach, a comforting thing, and she could feel muscles she hadn’t known were tense loosen.

“Thank you,” she murmured. After another careful swallow, she set the mug back down. Quietly, she asked, “Why do you do it?”

“Why do I or why does Ryan?”

Her gaze flickered up, and she replied truthfully, “Both.”

He folded his arms across his chest, rested a hip against the counter, and crossed his ankles, like he was settling in for a long talk. “For me, it’s almost a family business. I’m the fourth generation. My daddy, my granddaddy, my great-granddaddy. They all did it before me.” His eyes became distant. “My mother didn’t want this life for me, so my father agreed to never try to bring me into it. But when I turned eighteen, a delegate from the Council approached me and gave me the spiel.” He shrugged. “And I said yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

Another shrug, then his lips twisted humorlessly. “I’m saving mankind, aren’t I? No greater reward and all that.”

Mercy took a moment to absorb that then probed, “And Ryan?”

Dark eyes met hers, steady, weighing. “Ryan and his family—mother, father, younger sister—were attacked by a vampire one night. It broke in while they were sleeping. Killed his father before one of us showed up. The cavalry arrived, but it was Ryan who ended up staking it. He improvised with the broken end of a hockey stick.”