Bitten by Ecstasy: 2 (Dark Judgment) (6 page)

With Alesia, his desire had been warm, comforting, easy. After being friends for so long, the smooth slide into more had seemed a natural progression. Their love had been tender, sweet. But this need pumping through his veins had his beast snapping and lunging to be loosed—this craving didn’t feel tender or sweet. Influenced by bloodlust or not, his beast just wanted to claw, to
bite
.

“Tell me.” He took the plates from her grasp, ignoring the confusion clouding her bright gaze. “Before you pull a wicked-witch-of-the-west on vampires, you usually take their blood?”

Lightning flickered in her eyes. “Yes.”

“Who feeds from you?”

She ripped a couple of paper towels off the dowel. “Cruxim?” She scoffed. “No one feeds from us.”

A feral surge of hunger and triumph swelled inside him, winged through him like the wildest, clearest note in a song that lasted long after the melody ended. Setting the spatula on the counter, he flicked the knobs on the stove and slowly pivoted. He grinned, flashing every tooth in his mouth. Even the pull of his scars’ stiffened flesh couldn’t dissipate his fierce pleasure.

“Well, guess who just jumped to the top of the food chain.”

Even as Sinéad followed Bastien from the kitchen and back into the living room, the jolt from his bald announcement continued to clamor through her like the booming percussions of a drum of thunder. Images of his glowing red eyes and long dagger-sharp teeth paraded across her mind like floats in the annual St. Patrick’s Day parade. Of course the similarities had registered but he fed from cruxim…her sisters? If she’d known this bit of information, his ass would’ve still been hanging around that piss-soaked alley, not sitting comfortably on her couch.

“Here.” Bastien glanced up, his emerald gaze scanning her as she stood, body rigid with tension, at the end of the sofa, her fingers curled into the faded, upholstered cushion. He nudged the wide platter laden with a hearty bagel-topped hamburger and crisps. “Eat.”

The delicious aroma called to her with a siren’s sensuous lure. Ever since she’d discovered an appetite, along with her humanity and addiction to television, her meals had consisted of sugary cereal, crisps, pancakes and eggs. Though she’d lost her immorality, the solitary nature of her kind hadn’t disappeared. She didn’t enjoy the noisy, packed crowds of the pubs or restaurants and had quickly stopped visiting those places for food. Not to mention, she hadn’t particularly cared for the fare she’d purchased. Overseasoned. Bland. Hard as tack. Too soft.
Sweet Nef
, it was like being pushed from the womb again and having to discover her personality, her likes and dislikes, hell—
herself
—once more. The task was huge. Daunting.

Some nights the stark reality of her new existence engulfed her—a massive, crashing swell drowning her in the decisions, questions and uncertainties she hadn’t been forced to deal with as a cruxim. Hours of hunting and training had been replaced with long stretches of time filled with nothing but sitcoms, late-night movies and bouts of loneliness and self-pity. Previously, her thoughts had always been black and white, decisive and never doubted. Now those same decisions were hindered or stirred by faulty, unstable emotions like anger, sadness…fear.

And the male responsible for flipping her world on its ass invited her to eat food he’d cooked with his own strong, capable hands. This male who, with a simple touch, sent her reeling into an emotional overload. This male who, with his piercing eyes and beautiful, solemn features, stared at her as if he could read her mind as easily as if closed caption streamed across her forehead.

The brutal scars that ravaged his face only added to the intensity of his scrutiny. And there lay another problem. Scowling, she carefully lowered to the far end of the couch. That stare. In the kitchen, she’d been stunned by it, blindsided by what she’d glimpsed in the emerald-green depths. Something dark, savage, ravenous. Crimson had flickered in his eyes. There and gone, but there. Yet she was human, and he’d stated he fed on cruxim, so what he’d craved hadn’t been blood. It had been…her.

The disturbing, terrifying need she glimpsed in his gaze should have sent her diving for the black knife handle protruding from the butcher block. But those damnable emotions had kept her glued to the floor, short pants blasting from between her parted lips, a liquid ball of fire swirling and gathering heat in her stomach. The flames had streaked to her breasts and nipples before whooshing back down her abdomen and to the pulsing flesh between her legs.

Desire. She knew of it, had witnessed it many times between couples clasped in passionate embraces on the Dublin streets. The rare occasions when her hunt for a vampire had carried her into the dimly lit interiors of the pleasure dens had exposed her to the prurient, animalistic side of lust. But in her centuries of existing, she’d escaped passion’s claws. Mercifully.

She much preferred the more clinical, practical method of the cruxim—decide it’s time to reproduce, select a male donor, have sex and done. Get pregnant and no need to see the male again. The cruxim’s ability to control their fertility had great advantages, the least of them being able to avoid sweaty, messy grappling with males.

But now, with his steady, unblinking gaze on her…with her thighs trembling each time the crease in her pants grazed her sensitive, swollen flesh and shot sparks to the top of her sex, she wondered. Wondered and waited.

What followed this unsettling clenching in her gut, swelling of her breasts and tightening of her nipples to aching points? What came after the disconcerting excitement rippling through her, rocketing her high into the clouds as if her wings had reappeared before diving to the earth, heart lodged in her throat? Her stomach twisted, and not from the tantalizing smell of cooked meat and vegetables teasing her nostrils.

Cautious, on edge, she lifted the burger and bit into it. And groaned. Ecstasy burst on her tongue, spun on her palate before zipping down her throat and hitting her stomach.

Damn sex. Nothing—absolutely
nothing
—could be better than this orgasm in her mouth.

“Good, huh?” Bastien asked, amusement coloring the low rumble of his voice.

She would have answered—she really would have if she hadn’t been wolfing down another bite of the toasted bagel, perfectly cooked beef and seared vegetables.
Lady
, who would’ve thought breakfast bread could add the most wonderful flavor to a hamburger?

Silence fell between them as they dined on the simple but delectable meal. Even when Bastien rose, left the room and returned with another burger, she only emitted a grunt of thanks and pleasure as she took the offering and sucked down the second serving. Beside her Bastien ate at a more leisurely, dignified pace, but inhaled an equal amount.

When the last crumbs of bread and crisps had disappeared from her plate, Sinéad collapsed against the back of the sofa with a satisfied groan.

“Thank you.” She sighed, adjusted on the cushion and laced her fingers over her stuffed belly. “The food was incredible. I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”

“You have to take better care of yourself,” Bastien murmured, clearing their wiped-clean plates from the table. Once more he retreated from the room and, in moments, reappeared with a tall glass of milk, which he passed to her. He waited until she accepted the drink then reclaimed his space next to her. The cushion sank under his weight and Sinéad planted her feet on the floor, checking the motion so she didn’t roll to his side like a raft carried on a wave.

“I’ve been doing just fine these past years, thank you very much.” She shot him a glance over the rim of the glass as she lifted it for a deep drink. The refreshing cold quenched her thirst. With a hum of pleasure, she knocked back the entire drink.

“Yes, but you haven’t been a human all these years either.” His gentle admonishment didn’t contain a hint of judgment or condescension. She lifted her eyes and the tender warmth in his gaze unnerved her nearly as much as his earlier, glittering perusal. “From a healer’s point of view, your body requires more nutrition than that shit you were about to eat. Cereal and potato chips won’t provide the strength and stamina you need, especially if you encounter any more skirmishes like tonight.” He paused. “Can I ask you a question?”

She narrowed her eyes, lowering the glass. “You go right ahead. Doesn’t mean I have to answer.”

Bastien nodded, his full lips twitching at the corner. “Fair enough. Why are the cruxim and vampires enemies? Why do you hate each other so much?”

Sinéad wasn’t surprised Bastien didn’t know of her race’s history. The cruxim were isolated, prone to chop the nose off anyone stupid enough to stick it in their business. Yet for some reason, she wedged her spine in the corner of the couch and spilled the historical record instilled in every Black Angel from the time of their birth.

“The first cruxim were called
pithia
and they were not warriors but priestesses of Nef.” Nef, their beloved goddess, endowed the cruxim with her strength. “They worshipped and served her in the heavens and on earth. While offering sacrifice and tending one of the earthly temples, a
pithia
came across a vampire who lusted after her—and raped her. The young she bore as a result of the attack inherited the black wings, silver hair and eyes of its mother, but the fangs and bloodlust of the vampire. Only the young craved the blood of its sire, not human blood. Nef was outraged by the defilement of her priestess. She declared war on the vampires, nearly decimating the race from the earth.”

“Damn,” Bastien breathed. “Remind me to never piss off a goddess.”

“The vampire species recovered, but their hatred for Nef was as hot as hers—and the
pithia’s
—for them. For thousands of years our races warred, killing indiscriminately. Including innocents. Once Nef’s fury cooled, those deaths weighed heavily on both her and the
pithia’s
consciences. The goddess restricted hunting to rogue vampires, but we’re still enemies. While a select few of our race continue to serve Nef, from the time most of us are weaned, we are trained to hunt and kill vampires after we feed from them. It’s what we are…what we do.”

His eyebrows veered toward his hairline. “I thought you hunted and executed all vampires. So you’re discriminate…like our Dimios.” Bastien slowly nodded then tilted his head to the side. “How do cruxim differentiate between rogue vampires and innocents?”

“Vampires are natural predators, but they don’t have to inflict pain or kill. They can easily enthrall humans and make the feeding pleasurable. But there are those who enjoy the agony of ripping their prey apart, delight in the kill and exalt in the last life’s blood pumping from their victims’ veins. These are the rogues cruxim hunt.”

“Like tonight,” Bastien added.

She dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “Yes, like tonight. All vampires possess aura—a spiritual stamp of sorts—that cruxim can perceive, probably due to the ancestral blood connection our races share. A vampire’s aura should be blue, but the essences of those who have drunk a human’s last life's blood are striated with red. A bright, desperate, angry red. As if the human soul contained in the fluid is crying out for punishment, for retribution.” Her voice softened as she envisioned the profane mixture of red and blue. Of evil and virtue. Of life and death.

She shook her head, clearing her head and refocusing on her explanation. “The taint has a slim window of eight hours before it disappears and the aura returns to blue. So the cruxim search every night—from the sky or on the ground—to locate the rogues, the killers, before they can hide their guilt behind the façade of innocence.”

“That explains it,” he said, his green eyes lighting as if a switch had been flipped inside his head.

“Explains what?”

“Since I…changed, I’ve glimpsed flashes of red and blue in crowds of people. I assumed it was another effect of the bloodlust. But I was actually seeing—”

“Vampires,” she concluded.

“Damn,” he whispered.

A corner of her mouth quirked at the note of wonder in his voice. But then she sobered. “Another trait we share,” she paused, her lips twisting, “or used to share.”

A heartbeat of silence passed.

“You miss it,” he murmured.

Yes, damn it! her spirit cried out. But she locked the scream down, remained silent.

He studied her, his inspection different than in the kitchen. More analytical, dissecting. As if she were photographic film depicting bones and joints instead of a flesh-and-blood female.

“Why did you do it?” he asked. “Why did you give me your blood if you knew it would steal your immortality? Your purpose?”

Planting her palms on the couch, she pushed herself upright. “Believe me, I didn’t know the consequences at the time. I had no idea that one act would leave me like,” she flitted her hands in front of her, “this.”

“So why? Why give me your blood? What made you do it?”

Confusion and not a little frustration welled inside her. What did he want from her?

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” she huffed. “I already told you, I didn’t know—don’t know. You were almost eviscerated, losing so much blood and close to death.” She caught the minute tautening of his mouth and the slight whitening of his scars, but he remained silent. Sinéad sighed. “You’re the doctor,” she reminded him, unable to keep the exasperation from her tone. “When someone is leaking blood like a sieve, the procedure is to first stop the loss then replace the fluid. Like a transfusion. So after the first couple of days, when your body hadn’t begun the healing cycle on its own, I thought…maybe…my blood would…”

Her nails bit into the nap of the upholstery as she was flooded with not-too-distant memories of that time. The helplessness and vulnerability that had been as alien to her as the frail body she’d suddenly inhabited. The crushing loss of her wings and freedom of flight. She’d been grounded—literally—and imprisoned to the earth in a structure that was both weak and as strong as the most impenetrable cell.

“I had no clue I was sacrificing more and more of my immortality with every feeding. No idea when I left you I would no longer be…me.”

Powerful. Invincible.

She hadn’t meant to utter
me
. Hadn’t meant to reveal something so…exposing.

“Would you do it again?” he asked, his voice a quiet murmur. “Knowing the repercussions, would you give me your blood again?”

Staring into his face, the marks of the pain he’d suffered etched into his skin,
yes
hovered on the tip of her tongue. It was the civilized thing to say. The human thing to say.
Of course if I could save your life I would do it all over again.