Hunger Aroused (2 page)

“This is getting out of control,” Councilman Sage grumbled on the other end of the line. “They are forcing our hands with this type of defiance. Before long we'll be executing more fledglings than we create.”

“I agree but the law is clear,” Corin responded into the cell phone. Not that he had to really remind the youngest member of the Council, but still. He sounded a little too regretful to Corin's ears. He'd never had reason to correspond with any of the other Council members; his allegiance, therefore, rested for the most part with this man. A relationship he wasn't sure about even after all this time. He could have been just like Sage once—a Council member. But then and now, he abhorred the world of politics and thought the role of executioner suited him better.

Giancarlo Sage blew out a breath. “I'll convene the others. As usual, it will take a few days to pass a judgment. Have you located the sire yet?”

“No. I know where the fledging is staying, however, and he or she shouldn't be too far away.” There was a long pause that didn't sit well with Corin. “Sir?”

Another silence stretched between them. Corin glanced at the brownstone holding his future within and studied the short flight of stairs leading to a stained glass door. He'd have to locate the back door the building inevitably hid. Going through the front would create more problems than it prevented. If the fledgling happened to look out at just the right time, there was no way she'd miss his bulk in the multi-colored panels.

Finally Giancarlo spoke. “At all costs, find and apprehend the sire, Corinius. I plan on convincing the Council that we must make an example of him.”

“And the fledgling?”

“She'll most likely be delivered into your capable hands. It's a waste and regretful, but also necessary. If her sire dares to be so careless as to create her, he'll probably be similarly careless in rearing her.”

“Agreed. With your permission?”

“Yes, please. Do what's necessary.”

That was all he needed to hear. Corin disconnected from the Councilman and tucked the phone in his back pocket. He strode with the confidence of someone who belonged to the back of the brownstone, his hearing attuned to sounds of someone other than himself in the tight alleyway.

Act like he belonged and no one would bother giving him a second glance. Know his surroundings at all times, and anyone seeking him harm would be unable to sneak up behind him. Corin had been doing this for way too long, with far less innocent creations. This transitioner would be nothing more than another blip, an inconvenience in his day.

He vaulted over the waist-high, chain-link fence without slowing. An unassuming and unguarded back door stood only feet away. With another quick study of his surroundings, he approached and dropped to one knee before it. He almost didn't need the lock-pick set to get the stupid thing open. If she weren't about to meet her death, he would have given this woman a stern talking to about her poor excuse for a security system. Gods, she could have at least gotten a dog if she really meant business. Any junkie looking for a fix could make easy work out of this.

Shaking his head, Corin stood and turned the knob. The cool metal moved smoothly, noiselessly in his hand. Stepping inside, more of the decadent cinnamon scent assaulted him. He ignored the way it made his teeth pulse and closed the door behind him, certain to engage the deadbolt again.

Her home—he assumed it was her home—was simplicity at its finest. Dark wood floors matched tall wood furniture. A small fish tank sent out the gentle sound of bubbling water into the hallway he slowly inched down. Along the way he passed idyllic pictures of beaches at sunset. Paintings meant to capture the eye and equally calm the observer.

He took in his surroundings without lingering, purpose in each step. His breathing was even. His heart thumped steadily. No rush to find her. No urgency about his task. Every time he inhaled, the delicious cinnamon betrayed her location. The sire he couldn't locate, however; he knew no good would come of not being able to find him or her.

Corin circled the small home, making his way through photograph-lined corridors and rooms painted in different colors. Checking inside closets and behind lush curtains. Overly cautious, perhaps. Precautions he wouldn't regret, definitely.

At last satisfied she was in fact alone, he followed the trail of her scent. He kept his steps light, the polished wood not making a sound as he approached what was presumably a bedroom. From the hallway, he saw only the partially closed door, a sliver of bright light spilling from the gap. Stopping near the entrance, he reached behind his back, sliding his fingers along the sharp spikes in the strap. In her state, she'd prove harmless, but not sensing the sire sent his instincts on screaming alert. Councilman Sage might want the bastard alive, but if he put up a fight and it came down to Corin's life or his, there wouldn't be much of a decision to make.

The door groaned softly when he pushed it. What greeted his sight as it swung away took his breath.

She lay stretched across a large bed, the bed sheets rumpled and ready to drown her. Her face was turned away from him, her jaw line angled against the stark luxury of her slender neck. Beneath the skin, her pulse beat a steady rhythm, and Corin felt the first stirrings of hunger in his belly. The rounded curves of her breasts spilled out from the white cups of her bra, offering a teasing hint of the deep blush of her areolae.

Corin's gaze traveled down her body, bypassing the dip in her waist, the gentle slope of her belly. He tried hard not to linger on the white panties, the vee between her legs, but instead visually traced the length of her toned thighs. He found himself following a small network of capillaries to the swell of her buttocks. Tightening his jaw proved little relief against the urges rocketing through him, arousing an instinct, some need that had long since gone dormant. Or so he'd thought.

She took a deep breath, arching and writhing in a sweet agony. A reminder of his own time in transition that he still felt in his bones as if it were only yesterday. Fortunately—or unfortunately—it released the hold lust had claimed.

Her lips parted, and she moaned. For the first time, he noticed the sheen of perspiration on her forehead, dampening the hairline.
Fuck.
She was further along than he thought.

Anger flooded through him, and Corin rushed to her side. Pulling her up by her shoulders, he shook until her eyelids flew open. “Where is he, the one who did this to you?” he demanded. “Where's your sire?”

Her skin sizzled with heat beneath his fingers, and he tightened his grip then swallowed hard against a dry throat. She exposed that delicate neck to him, encouraged him with that throbbing pulse. Seduced with that intoxicating scent.

Unfocused blue eyes saw through him, not acknowledging his presence in the least. He shook harder, only to receive a miniscule change in her condition. This was so not good. Her change came on with a speed he'd never before encountered.

He studied her face, looking for more signs of her change. Trying to get his mind to wrap around the stages of the transition and pinpoint her on the continuum. Instead, his mind and body betrayed him with sensations he couldn't afford to recognize. With urges he refused to give in to.

Corin leaned in closer when her mouth moved. Words too soft for even his sensitive hearing to catch. “Again,” he prompted. Her breath caressed his skin when he moved even closer. It stoked more of those maddening urges, his teeth elongating and pulsing in response. He could almost taste the sweet blood just beneath the surface of her skin. Imagined feeling the very moment his teeth penetrated her flesh. He shouldn't—
couldn't
—be having these types of thoughts. That part of him, the part that yearned to taste another vampire's blood, ended centuries ago. Yet, here he stood, battling himself. He didn't know why and barely understood how, but this woman was sin and tempting and longing within his arms.

A low moan escaped from her mouth, the sound as erotic as a woman in the throes of pleasure. Her next words, though, chilled him. “Please,” she whimpered. “Help me.”

Every part of her body was hot, just short of combustible. This sensation wound through her, tightening her insides. This burning, twisting ache. Removing her clothing and dropping onto the comfort of her bed helped with some of the sweet pain, but still it wasn't enough. Jasmine needed more, something undefined, some relief she didn't know how to name. It was sexual and ravenous, a gnawing hunger.

A man stood in her room, studying her as she thrashed on the bed, trying to push this feeling out of her system. He stood motionless for a few seconds, simply watching and waiting. The man from outside, she realized. The one she'd passed on the way here, the one she would have spent more time flirting with, was in her home. Maybe he could help her…call for an ambulance. Something.

When he touched her, when he picked her up in his arms, the hunger intensified. The agony burned so brightly, she might explode from the potency of it. Every place their skin connected pulsed with life. Waves of craving and needing rippled out until trapped beneath her skin, they had no place to go. There they pulled at her insides and rolled like a series of detonations. Him—his touch—she needed it like air.

This was wrong. Wrong! Stark rabid fear should have echoed in her screams at the first sight of him. Adrenaline should have insisted she get up and run far away, as fast as she could from this stranger. Her body, her home should have demanded protection from this intruder. So caught in the trap of need, she whimpered and moaned instead. Begged for relief.

Her condition was pure misery. Unrelenting and endless. She would have cried could her body spare the tears. Her low moans were her sole means of asking for help. If he came to harm her, if he gave little thought to the value of life, it would be a reprieve at least from her torment.

“Where is your sire?” he repeated.

She heard his words, processed them somewhere in the back of her mind. They meant little though. The ache grew, pulling her from consciousness into the warmth of its embrace. Its sensual hold.

“Gods damn it. Can you even hear me?”

Jasmine nodded weakly. Her mind tumbled, her body writhed against his. “Please…”

His grip tightened as he exhaled. “I know how to ease the pain for a short while.” He studied her face, looking for something she couldn't define. “Do you have any spicy food like chili peppers or wasabi? Anything hot at all?”

Food? She was burning up, her body out of control, and he wanted food? She shook her head.

“Chocolate then?”

“No!” she gasped. What the hell was up with the food questions? Her protest morphed into a moan and, for a split second, she had the insane thought she wanted to crawl out of her skin. Anything to leave behind what coursed through her.

“The only other way is much more…intimate. Can you handle that?”

Yes, please anything.
She could handle anything besides this torment. “Please,” she said on a breath.

He—this stranger whose name she didn't even know—looked into her eyes. In the black depths she saw strength and pain. Tenderness too. She realized idly he smelled of apples and, even odder, had a slight undercurrent of cinnamon just beneath. Not something she'd expect from a man who looked as if he made a living breaking kneecaps, but it fit him. A gentle side to his purely masculine exterior.

His broad chest pressed against her arm when he leaned forward. The moment his large hand settled between her legs, cupping her warmth, her hips shot off the bed. Jasmine shrieked in surprised indignation, but he kept his gaze level.

“My name is Corin,” he said. His hand didn't move. No matter how she twisted beneath him, he followed, keeping them connected. He spoke as if gentling a wild horse, his voice low and soothing. “On my life I swear to you this will help what you're going through.” Without warning, she felt the first deliberate circular rub of his palm against her sex. “Just this. Let me pet you and ease some of the hurt.”

Another sound of protest cut off abruptly with the first wave of pleasure—without the pain. The ache diminished. Jasmine's nipples tightened beneath her bra, a flush of heat spreading rapidly down her neck and chest.

“That's it. Let me help you.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she eased a breath out of parted lips. Trembling thighs parted of their own volition, giving him more access. Anything to continue the slow ebb. His free hand rested beneath her breast, holding her through the taming. Somehow her fingers found his next to her thudding heart. Entwined with them.

She licked her dry lips, stifling a moan. “How?”

“Physiology. Shh…let it happen.”

Questions could be answered later. For now, she would enjoy. She would feel.

A concentration of sensual pleasure formed beneath his capable hand, her panties moistening with every passing second. She was no shrinking virgin, but the swiftness with which she responded to his touch astonished her. Came dangerously close to embarrassment. Still, she rocked her hips, startled when his finger traced over her swollen nub, the cluster of nerves rioting from the way he stroked.

Jasmine surrendered command of her body to him. To his expert touch. All of her ardent hunger dissipated, sated as he pushed her toward oblivion. When at last she trembled, when the hunger rose anew—this time a different type of hunger, a different type of need—she rolled her hips to guide his hand. Together they forced that glorious sensation outward until it flowed through her limbs, carrying her along a crest that swelled. It was a storm, which raged toward an inevitable clash. Her eyes flew open at the moment before crescendo, the last possible moment before she toppled headlong into an orgasm that would consume her. She stared into the eyes of darkness and as the first thunderbolt of elation raced through her, all of the hunger, ache and pain melted away into pure, unadulterated bliss.

Her unknown lover, this stranger who knew her so intimately, held her as her body trembled and shook. As she came undone beneath the force and skill of his single hand. She listened to the blood pump through her veins, heard the insistent thump of her heartbeat speeding up and then slowing down, trickling to a whispered, dull thud against her ribcage. She drifted lazily on this high, letting it soothe her. It left her fulfilled, drowsy and drunk.

The pressure between her legs lessened, his palm lifting.

“Better?” he asked.

Chest heaving, she struggled to catch what little breath she could. Blazing heat filled her cheeks. “Yes. Thank you.” Truly, she felt better. Calmer. “Who are you?”

He released her and stood with a swiftness that made her head swim. A long stride carried him across the room, where he stood with arms folded over his chest, studying her. “My name is Corin.”

“You said that.” Even during her haze, she remembered those words. The air was thick with the scent of her sex, but if he was affected, nothing about the way he stood scrutinizing her gave him away. At once the anger she'd seen before was back, lending more of that intensity behind his gaze that sent shivers arcing through her spine. “What did you do to me?”

“What your sire should have been here to do. Where is he?”

Jasmine struggled to sit upright. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Corin pushed a hand through his thick mane. The same hand that minutes ago had been pressed against her sex, bringing her more pleasure than she'd known in a very long time. “You and I are getting nowhere,” he muttered.

“Yeah, so maybe you should start at the beginning. Why are you in my house? And who the hell is this sire person you keep asking about?” She refused to acknowledge the little shivers of pleasure still echoing through her body. “Better yet, back up and tell me who you are. ‘Corin' doesn't tell me anything.”

His eyes narrowed. “You want to know who I am?”

“That's what I asked you.” Despite the false bravado behind her words, her stomach did somersaults. In that moment, she knew she looked into the face of fierce determination.

Corin's jaw hardened. “I am the instrument of your death.”