In the Dead of Cold (22 page)

Milo was dismissed.

“What are we doing?” Jane asked.

“Going to bed.” He led her out of Graham’s apartment and to the elevator.

She sighed contently and leaned against him, her vanilla and flowery scent filling him, sending his hunger to unspeakable measures. Milo swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” He pulled her closer. It was easy to lean on her.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just tired and thirsty.”

So was he.
The elevator door closed. Milo hit the wrong button by mistake. “Damn.”

“Are
you
all right?” Jane pushed the right button, but too late. The elevator passed his floor and stopped on the button he’d pushed.

“I must be more tired than I thought.” He felt horrible. Maybe he’d feel better as soon as he was horizontal.

Four young men stepped into the elevator. The smell of alcohol on them caused his stomach to twist.

“Man, what happened to you guys?” one young man asked, looking at the blood on Milo’s shirt.

No doubt, Milo and Jane looked like hell. They’d certainly been through it.

“We had a little too much to drink,” Milo lied.

“Damn, I know how that feels,” another piped in.

“Were you guys part of that wild party we heard on the top floor?” the third one asked.

“Yeah,” Milo forced out, wishing the elevator would pick up speed. Jane pressed against him, but it was more like she held him up. He did feel drunk, and he didn’t like it.

“We were out on our deck and heard some of the commotion. We even heard glass breaking.”

“You’re lucky you guys didn’t get your butts kicked out of here for good after a party like that,” the fourth added.

“Oh?” Milo couldn’t help but ask.

The elevator door opened, and the men began to file off one after the other. “Yeah,” the fourth went on. “We heard that guy who’s the head of security here can be a real asshole.”

Then they were gone, and the door closed again.

“An asshole, huh?” Jane put her arm around him.

“I suppose I could be an asshole when it’s necessary.” Milo took a deep breath. They didn’t encounter anyone else as they reached his floor. He became very aware of Jane’s soft scent. Her pulse thumped in his ears, and when he looked down at her, his gaze was drawn to her throat, so soft, so vulnerable, so tempting. The mark he’d made there called to him.

He fought the urge to run his tongue across it, but maybe if he did, his head would stop pounding. Not tasting her seemed to drain even more of his energy.

He held her close and sniffed her. He recognized Bart’s smell on her. He and Jane would have to ignore it this time. Neither of them was in any shape to stand in the shower to rinse off.

By the time they reached his apartment, he was exhausted. After they fell into bed, he pulled Jane close to him and felt her relax as she gave in to her fatigue. Milo’s entire body felt as if it were on fire. If he didn’t know better, he’d think molten metal flowed through him.

With that thought came a realization. It wasn’t metal, but it was from metal.

Bart would know how to arm himself and his cohort.

Hell.

He didn’t want to die this way.

Breathing hard, he pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.

“Mr. M.? You need to check on August. I think she shot us with silver.”

He dropped his phone on the floor. He reached up and put his fingers on Jane’s neck where he’d bitten her. The softness of her skin grabbed him. The strong pulse he felt beneath his fingers called to him as nothing else ever had. He couldn’t stop his fangs from surfacing.

No, he wouldn’t drink from her again. Not now. Not when he felt so out of control. He knew he’d never be able to stop. And if he couldn’t stop, it would mean her life. Maybe one silver bullet wasn’t enough to kill him. Maybe he’d healed himself before the silver could affect him. All he needed was rest. But he was so thirsty.

Ignore it.
He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. He wanted nothing more than Jane’s blood to quench his horrible thirst, but a dream with her would have to suffice.

His dreams with Jane this time were different, though, frightening and sporadic. In every one, he was lost—in a dark cemetery, and in an endless, oily ocean where unseen hands tried to pull him under the water. Over and over, he called for Jane. He knew she was close by. He smelled her. He felt her. He heard her voice. And yet he couldn’t find her in the unending darkness.

He woke shivering and sweating at the same time, his heart racing. With one hand, he reached out and felt Jane sleeping next to him. She was so warm, so soft. Her inviting scent called to him. He needed to tear her clothes from her and bury his cock deep within her pussy and his teeth in her throat. It was the only thing that would end his torture.

No, he couldn’t hurt her.

He forced himself to roll away. He closed his eyes, hoping she dreamed them to a better place.

Only it wasn’t.

It was a jungle. Hot. Humid. Overgrown to the point of causing claustrophobia. Jane pressed against him, and Milo thought he might catch fire. They were two hot bodies in a jungle hot enough to send steam off their skin.

“Jane?”

“Milo, why did you dream us to such a horrible place?”

“I didn’t.”

“I didn’t either. Where’s the beautiful mountain we share, or the brook, or the lake?”

“I don’t know.”

Then she screamed in his ear as a huge snake slithered out of a tree and down over his shoulder. He grabbed the snake near its head and fought with it, using all his strength to keep it away from Jane. It wrapped its huge tail around his arm and then around his body. It slapped his face with its tail. And as he stared into the black endlessness of its eyes, trying to strangle it, he realized it strangled him.

All the while, Jane’s scream echoed off the trees and inside his head.

He woke, feeling worse than before, shivering and weak. He rolled off the bed and stood up, still fighting the dream snake. Then his vision cleared, and he saw that he was in his room.

Jane stared at him. Milo longed for nothing more than to take her in his arms, do whatever he could to soothe her fear, which was so strong it radiated through the room. The smell of her fear burned his nostrils. He wanted to die with her in his arms. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to tell her he would rather die than to ever see her hurt. He wanted to tell her that she was his world. But he didn’t have the strength to say another word. He couldn’t stand. His knees buckled. He hit the floor before he even knew he was falling. The room spun. Milo closed his eyes and let approaching darkness take him where it would.

JANE REACHED OUT and turned on the lamp on the nightstand.

Milo lay on the floor across the room. Even in the dim light and the distance between them, there was no mistaking the pasty color of his face.

She rushed over and knelt beside him. His cheek was hot beneath her hand. “Milo, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond to her whispered words. She was still exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him and share a dream of making love. Except the previous dreams they’d shared had been so horrid. Did Bart cause that? Or something else?

“You’re burning up.”

He still didn’t respond.

Milo had been shot in the back by the woman who’d been with Bart before she’d shot August three times and August had taken the gun away from her. Jane frowned and chewed her lip. But she’d seen Milo heal himself. What was it Mr. Masterson had ordered—had said? Something about nourishment. She hadn’t been around vampires too long, but long enough to know that meant blood. And hadn’t Milo told her they needed blood when they needed to heal?

She shook him. “Milo? Milo? Can you hear me?”

He moaned in response.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Shot.”

“I know that.” Behind the bookstore, she’d seen Bart heal himself incredibly quick. “Didn’t you heal yourself?”

“Can’t…silver…bullet…”

A silver bullet? Bart’s woman had shot him with a silver bullet? “Milo, will”—she couldn’t bring herself to say the word
blood
—“nourishment help you?” He opened his eyes and tried to focus on her.

“Jane…” He barely got her name out before he closed his eyes again.

“Will nourishment heal you?”

He didn’t answer her for a long time, long enough that she finally shook him and called his name again. When he did answer, his words were harsh whispers, and he didn’t open his eyes again.

“Can…only…have…yours…now.”

Jane heard his words loud and clear, and they caused her to sit up straight. How long she stared at him, she had no idea. The stillness of the room was shattered when he coughed. The spasm was strong enough to send him rolling to his side, and he curled into a ball. He was sick, and without her blood, he wasn’t going to get better.

She put her hand to his forehead. She didn’t think it was possible for him to feel hotter than before, but he did.

She grasped his shirt and forced him on to his back. “Milo?”

He opened his eyes and managed to reach out and cup her face. His hand slid down to touch the bite mark on her neck before it fell back against his side. “I won’t take from you again. I’m afraid I won’t stop.” His words were breathy and weak. “It’s okay. I can die, knowing I found you, that I had you for a short time and tasted you.”

Die? Did he say
die?
He couldn’t die. The thought sent her heart racing. And more fear burned through her than when Bart had held her against the wall and bared his teeth at her. “No, no, you don’t mean that.” She shook him again. “Wake up and listen to me. You don’t have to take it from me. I’ll give it to you. Milo? Milo?”

He didn’t respond.

“Milo, damn you!” Jane fought the urge to slap his face to rouse him. Then she took a deep breath and put her thoughts in order, fighting to remember everything Milo had told her. What had he said about Bart?
That he’d needed only one drop of her blood.

Her legs were heavy with fatigue, but she forced herself to her feet and made her way to the small kitchen. She had to search three drawers before she found a knife. Her mother would have had a stroke if she’d seen Jane run through the apartment holding a knife.

“Milo! Milo!” He still didn’t respond. Without further hesitation, Jane opened his mouth. The sleeves of her sweater were tight, so she wasted no time trying to push one of them out of the way. She simply slipped it over her head and tossed it to the floor. Then she held her arm over his lips and, ignoring the pain, used the knife to slash herself. Anytime she’d accidentally cut herself, Jane had always thought she’d bled easily. But this time, when she needed the blood the most, it flowed in slow motion.

One drip…

It hit his lip.

She moved her arm.

Another drip…

That one went right into his mouth, and she hoped it landed on his tongue.

With the third drop, he opened his eyes and jumped up as if she’d touched him with a burning stick. The guttural cry he let out echoed throughout the silence of the apartment and startled Jane so much that she jumped too. It was a good thing she’d set the knife down on the carpet after cutting herself, or she feared one of them could have been hurt.

He looked at her like Bart looked at her, as if he wanted to eat her alive. “What the
hell
are you doing?” he ground out. His voice sounded deeper, harsher, more like Bart’s.

“You were shot. You need to heal. You need nourishment. Let me give it to you.”

He blinked at her. Then his eyes and his expression softened. He no longer looked like he wanted to devour her. “You shouldn’t offer.”

“Why not? You’ll die without it, won’t you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Yet, even as he said the words, he stared at the blood that oozed from the cut on her arm.

“I won’t let you take any chances.” She tilted her head slightly, offering her throat.

When she met his gaze, she found the need-to-devour-her expression was back in his eyes. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak. “Please take from me,” she whispered.

Without another word, he reached for her cut arm. Jane thought he was going to drink from the wound. And she was shocked when he ran his tongue over it and healed it. She stared at the spot, now cut- and blood-free. “How’d you—”

He touched his fingers to her lips to halt any further words. “You aren’t the only one with abilities.” Gently, tenderly, he eased her back on to the carpet. His kiss was long and deep and ravishing, his lips molding to hers, his mouth taking possession as no other ever had. As his kiss melted through her, he unbuttoned her jeans and helped slide them over her hips as she wiggled free of them.

His touch and his kiss left her out of breath. “Milo.”

Again, he touched his fingertips to her lips to silence her. Then he kissed her cheek, her jaw, behind her ear, her neck. When he sank his fangs into the spot on her neck, she shuddered beneath him but not from pain. No, it was something else, something she’d never felt before. It made her want him so much she didn’t care if she ever got another thing. It filled her body with energy. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he’d touched her with a live wire and sent volts of electricity all the way to the tips of her toes.

She came instantly in one explosive pulse.

It wasn’t waves. It was a constant stream of electrical current snaking through her.

With one hand, he laced his fingers through hers and held on tight. With his other hand, he fingered the sexy panties she’d worn for him out of the way and slid two fingers deep into her pussy.

She came again. Hot. Hard. Fast. Intense.

How long he drank, Jane had no idea. All she knew was that she floated, feeling weightless and wonderful. With his mouth on her throat and his fingers pumping into her again and again, she lost count of how many times she came. The orgasms left her high, almost like she was drunk, and she didn’t want them to stop.

When he finally pulled away, Jane wanted to grab him and push his mouth back to her throat again, but she couldn’t seem to command her arms to move. He touched his tongue to the bite mark, and it tingled with warmth. Jane shivered but felt anything but cold.