Hunger Aroused (6 page)

Shaking her head, she moved away, heading in the direction of the clinic. She really needed to back up and think all of this through logically. Damn Corin for not telling her more.

Get to the clinic. Figure out how to survive. All other plans—finding out more about her supposed change, learning more about the council Corin reported to, meeting with her mysterious John Doe—all of those things had to be of secondary importance. She ran her tongue over her teeth, now extending even farther, and solidified her decision to seek shelter. The inside of her mouth pulsed with a familiar ache and she pulled her tongue back quickly, not wanting to chance arousing the hunger Corin had successfully sated twice now.

Hell.

Her breath caught at the memories and she bit back a small moan. Damned heat rose again. She had to go. Now.

Once clear of everyone and about to resume her slow jog, her nerves started to tingle. A feeling of being watched. Skin crawling, Jasmine turned and scanned the crowd behind her. No one paid attention to her, most of the people focused either on the two people at the center, a few people watching the street for the rapidly approaching ambulance whose siren could be heard in the distance. She went through the faces again, one by one, trying to figure out why she couldn't shake the disconcerting sensation. But then a man stepped away from the throng, with eyes as dark as night, intent on her every move.

Swallowing a shriek, Jasmine took one look at Corin and ran.

Footsteps thudded against the pavement, approaching her at a full run. Pushing aside mounting arousal, Jasmine broke into a cold sweat, fear and adrenaline urging her forward. She used them to her advantage, running in the direction of the clinic once again. She didn't dare turn, and maybe the sounds just belonged to some afternoon joggers, but scrambling nerves didn't believe so.

Now fingers actually grazed through the ends of her hair. Not grasping, but close. It wasn't the hysterical imaginings of a scared mind. Not this time. Her lungs burned, a stitch slowly weaving its way through her side, but she couldn't slow down. Didn't slow down.

A linebacker or something damned close to it plowed into her. Scant seconds later, he kicked her feet out from under her. She went sprawling. Before the rapidly approaching ground met her face, the same bulk of raw power hauled her against him. She didn't have to look into his face to know how angry he was. But her immediate reaction to him was cause for concern. She wasn't sure she liked that his scent, the flare of heat that flowed through her body as it melted against his, could be caused by this man.

He yanked her to his chest. A growl—a growl!—issued out of his mouth as he stared her down, his incisors bared.

His mouth crashed down on hers and, unthinking, Jasmine brought her hands to his shoulders and clung to him. Her mind cleared enough for her to realize the kiss probably erased the doubts of any onlooker who saw her get chased and then caught. There was no passion or affection in his kiss. Just simple erotic possession.

Corin pulled away before the full implication of that realization set in. Glaring at her, he snapped, “Get in the car.”

“You can't—”

“Now.”

She'd just been shown under no uncertain terms that luck wasn't on her side today. No sense in pushing. He'd lower his guard again and, again, she'd take advantage of it.

“Fine,” she grumbled. Sulkily she walked with him at her back to an Infiniti parked only a few feet away from the crowd she'd just left.

When they sat inside the very plush interior of his car, Corin said nothing as he started the ignition. Jasmine folded her arms across her chest and sank into the seat, her mouth set into a firm line. The anger roiling from him thickened the air, almost to the point that she had difficulty breathing. Minutes passed in silence, and instead of diffusing, she could have sworn his fury ratcheted up a few more notches.

What the hell was his problem? She was the one who sat in his car feeling almost like a rebellious teenager. He wasn't her guardian or her father. He was part of the damned problem!

Finally, when she thought she might grind her teeth into powder, she'd had enough. “Well, are you going to say anything?”

Corin dragged his attention to her, raking her body with a heated caress of his eyes. “When we get to my place, I'm going to take you bare assed over my knee, and you
are
going to pay for running when I told you not to.”

He took a chance when she'd run that she'd head back to the clinic where he'd first seen her. On foot it seemed a logical place for her to go. So Corin had taken his time to retrieve his car and parked it in a strategic location. He only had to wait for her to pass by and then could convince her to get in and go with him.

The minute he saw her alone, a prime target for any executioner who was on her scent, his heart leapt into his throat. Never in his life could he remember fear almost paralyzing him to the point of immobility as it had in that moment. He'd stared down perhaps hundreds of men in his life as a gladiator, men who had wickedness in their hearts, survival in their eyes. But the exhilaration he'd felt during those times paled in comparison to knowing Jasmine came this close to getting caught.

His anger was so close to maniacal he hadn't wanted to say a word to her, hadn't thought at all when he answered her flippant inquiry. Just let the first thing that hit his mind come flying out. And when he smelled the rush of her body's cream at his response, his heart stopped and his mind went blank.

“You wouldn't dare.” A breathless whisper.

He bared his teeth because they were growing too fucking painful. “You're about to find out, don't worry.”

All of his training demanded he turn the car around, that he turn her over to his replacement. If not that, maybe even set up a safe meeting spot for her to discover who her sire might be, but his mind had other ideas. His mind teased him with memories of lacy white panties that were little more than scraps of material. It toyed him into rigid stiffness, along with fleeting glimpses of pink areolae and beaded nipples behind a white bra.

He felt her tension, a living, breathing part of her that wanted to be soothed. Because she neared another cycle, he felt her arousal too. Almost tasted it in the back of his throat. For twenty minutes he suffered in silence, his body tightening with every passing minute. The longer he remained quiet and brooding, the more her arousal coiled around his neck. Turning into his driveway, he pulled the car into the garage, trying to breathe through his mouth and not inhale that maddening scent.

“We're here,” he said, his voice strangled.

Some instinct carried him back to this house, a place where he could think about his next steps without worrying about their security. It was the only place he trusted with unwavering doubt to keep them safe. A place where he could obtain weapons and had untraceable access to the Internet. Complete sanctuary.

They wouldn't be staying long. None of the Council or their subordinates knew about this house; not to his knowledge anyway. He wanted to ensure it stayed that way.

He caught a glimpse of her wide eyes taking in the white-washed walls, the rows of shelving where organizers hid from view their contents. Everything about his home, including the garage where other homeowners stored their castaways, had an order to it. A place for everything, and everything in its place.

Kind of like the woman getting out of the car.

She fit here. He could spend the next hundred years arguing with himself that this feeling arose because he'd helped see her through part of her change. Maybe it was because she'd attracted him with physical beauty long before he'd noticed anything else. Might have even been the way she tested him at every turn, not bending at all when he pushed.

He could blame any and all of those things, but the truth of the matter was, she fit here. Deep in his soul, he hummed with contentment that she stood here now.

This wasn't right. He'd lived for centuries as a killer. Starting off as one who bloodied other men for sport. Who killed when later, the sight of blood wasn't enough to satisfy his masters. He trained hard. Learned too well, too easily what brought others to their knees before him.

What did his goddess do? She was in health care. A healer. He had no right to put blood-stained hands on her, yet every time she came near, no matter how strong his determination to not do so, he fell prey to her lure.

“Come on,” he grunted.

Jasmine didn't speak as they walked inside. Her quiet steps reflected her pensive mood, and he wanted to push. Anything to get her talking. Since his threat, one he had no intentions of following through on—well, hadn't, until her body indicated she might actually enjoy it—she'd been a little too quiet.

He led them past the sparse kitchen table, through a hallway unadorned with pictures or decorations and into a living room where the lack of colors at once embarrassed him. He wished now he'd put more effort into interior design, or at least making it more comfortable for visitors. Except he didn't have visitors, so really it didn't matter. It hadn't.

Jasmine stood in front of the crème-colored couch, studying him with still-wide eyes. Rusty manners brushed off, he opened his palm and indicated she should sit. “Please,” he added. Once she sat, he asked a question that had been bothering him. “Tell me, why did you stop to help that man? You didn't know him.”

She exhaled. “It's who I am. I have to help people. No one should have to die if someone is around them who can prevent it. He wasn't critical, but I had to check first.”

“Not everyone is meant to live. Not everyone should.”

“That's heartless.”

“It's the truth.”

Her head fell back against the headrest, before she lifted it again. “This is insane. I'm so lost.”

Simple words that tugged at his heartstrings. She looked so small, so fragile in the expanse of cushions perfect for his frame. At least resting himself there had been the intention when he purchased the furniture set. However, the past five minutes were the longest he'd spent in this room since buying the house.

With a sigh, Corin dropped onto his knees and lifted one of her feet onto the top of his thigh. Unthinking, he started to unlace her shoe.

“What are you doing?”

He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “The shoes are new.”

“Yeah?”

“They're hurting your feet.”

She lifted her other foot onto his thigh when he finished with the first one. “How did you know that?”

“The way you were running. Your technique.”

“My technique?” Jasmine laughed.

Her laughter pulled on his heartstrings again, but in a different way. A good way. The corners of his mouth curved unexpectedly. “You have none.”

A shriek of indignation rang out as she caught his meaning. Planting one foot against his chest, she nudged him, but he'd already anticipated her. He used her new position to start peeling off her socks.

“I do too,” she mumbled.

Her body's natural perfume, the low-level scent of arousal that had dissipated once no longer confined by the small space of a car, flared. Corin's fingers trembled against her skin as it enveloped him. Fighting for some semblance of control, he rubbed the delicate bones of her ankles before traveling to the fleshy portion of her heels. When he reached beneath the hem of her jeans to stroke her slender legs, she let out a sigh.

“What are you doing, Corin?” To his ears, her voice sounded husky. Sure.

Soft flesh yielded beneath his kneading hands. “Your muscles are tight.” A lie, but one he would not take back if her belief allowed him to keep touching her like this. “And your heat is building.”

“What about the punishment you threatened me with?”

“On its way.”

“Oh.”

Half-hidden beneath heavy lids, blue eyes flecked with gold looked drowsy from building desire. For a split second, Corin allowed himself to believe that he, and not the cycles of her change, incited the flames there.

“I don't like that you know how I feel before I do.”

“We're highly sexual creatures,
mellita.
I can't help reacting every time you lick your lips, or the pace of your breathing picks up. And your scent, the heat from between your legs is like…”

“A beacon?”

“Yes.”

“What does that word mean,
mellita?
”

“It's just a word, like a nickname.” He wouldn't say “term of endearment,” despite it being exactly that. Telling her its translation now didn't seem right though. “It's just another way to call you. Never mind what it means. It suits you.” He couldn't stop touching her. Skin so smooth. So luxuriant.

“But you've never—”

Carefully parting her thighs, he leaned forward, running his hands now over the length of her lower legs. Made his way up her thighs. Stroking. Kneading. “I've never what?” he murmured.

A pretty blush spread over her cheeks. “I could have fixed, you know,
the problem,
myself.”

“True—” he licked his own lips now, “—but the amount of endorphins released is greater when caused by another's stimulation.”

“I don't follow.”

“You could make yourself come and release an acceptable amount of endorphins. But if you have a skilled lover to help you, who heightens your anticipation…” Unable to help himself, he pressed his mouth to the thin line of skin showing above the waist of her clothing. “This way more endorphins are released. It lasts longer.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “What about you, though? You've been selfless.”

His mouth parted near her belly button, his tongue reaching out to touch her. A wonderful little taste of her bare skin. Chuckling as he pulled away, Corin replied, “Believe me, this is no hardship.”

It went against everything he'd been taught to do as an executioner. It went against his own beliefs that he sullied Jasmine by daring to touch her. It meant he'd turned his back on his kind to give in to carnal desires. And the desires of his heart.

No. It was no hardship at all.

Jasmine reached down, and he felt her trepidation. She fought some part of herself, and he couldn't blame her. He'd taken her world and thrown it upside down. The first touch of her hand along his jaw must have cost her a thousand lifetimes of trust. The way she pushed that same hand through his hair, another thousand lifetimes of longing. “When do I get what I want?”

He stilled, not knowing how to translate her question. The direct conflict with her actions. Hands that couldn't stop stroking her before trembled. Sure he already knew the answer, his honor dictated he hear the words from her mouth, no matter how disappointing. “And what is it that you want?”

“I thought you would have figured it out by now. I want you.”