Microsoft Word - The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance.doc (53 page)

If she’d harboured doubts over what he was, they would have died in that moment. But even the knowledge of what he was didn’t stop her.

She doubted anything could.

There was no reason for what she was doing. Couldn’t be.  Nothing rational, nothing sane,  but she still didn’t stop. She took another step and this one brought them so close, their bodies all but touched. “And I also wouldn’t have thought, even a few hours ago, that anything could change my mind about what a monster is. And what a monster isn’t.”

She lifted her head, stared into his eyes. “I’m not willing to change my mind on it. Not yet. Maybe never. I don’t know if  I’m ready to give that up.”

Reaching up, she traced a finger across his lips and whispered, “But I can’t change my mind on you  either.£ She pressed lightly on his bottom lip and opened his mouth, slowly, just a little, as though he didn’t want to at all. His fangs weren’t

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showing, but she could remember how they looked, found  herself wondering why they weren’t visible now. “Even with  these.”

Sara thought back. He could have hurt her at any time during the day while she slept. Or on any number of occasions a year ago, and he hadn’t. Deep inside, she knew he wouldn’t . . . couldn’t. As strong as her grief and rage was, her belief in  him was even stronger. Her knees went weak as his lips closed around her finger, sucking lightly, nipping on her fingertip as she slowly pulled her hand back. “I dream about you and I know  I’m not ready to give
 
that
 
up.”

His pupils flared, a harsh breath  escaped him. Pushing up

onto her toes, she pressed her mouth to his.

For the next 30 seconds, he stood almost frozen as she kissed him. Still, so still she was starting to develop a complex but then his hands came up, grasped her waist.

“What are you doing, Sara?” he whispered against her lips.

“Can’t you tell?” Tipping her head back, she smiled at him  and slid her hands under the shirt. “We did it plenty last year. I  thought you said you remembered everything.”

The hands at her waist shook, a convulsive, involuntary

tightening that drew her closer. “Are you sure about this?”

“No,” she replied honestly. “But I am sure about you. You  wouldn’t hurt me. I’ve spent the past year dreaming about you  and I’m tired of dreams.” Holding his gaze, she pushed up onto  her toes and pressed her lips to his.

And this time he kissed her back. His arms banded around

her, pulling her off the floor. The room spun as he pivoted,  walking backwards to the bed and falling down on it, taking her

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with him. The time spent apart  ceased to exist as they fought  free of their clothes. His body was hard, cool against the warmth  of hers, but with every passing minute, his body heated until his  skin seemed to burn as hot as hers.

His hands raced over her, touching her with a desperate greed that she recognized. It seemed as though Wyatt was as greedy for her as she was for him. He nipped her lower lip, kissed his way down her neck, took one aching nipple in his mouth. As he suckled on her, he wedged his hips between her thighs and pressed against her. She moaned out his name, fisted her hands in his hair and tugged until he brought his mouth back to hers. His taste  –  it was like nothing she’d ever known. She loved it. It was addictive.

Just like his touch. Just like his hands and his body. The way he looked at her, the way he stared at her as he played with her hair, the way he whispered her name as she drifted off to sleep  in his arms. All of him. Everything.

He pushed inside her and she tore her mouth away from his to suck in a desperate gasp of air. His lips brushed against her cheek, to her neck. He kissed a hot, burning path down to her neck, across her collarbone, before he pushed up onto his hands and stared down at her as he started to move. “You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve wanted to do this,” he rasped.

She reached up, brushed her fingers across his upper lip, lingering at the faint bulge of fangs just underneath. He tensed, tried to turn his head away, but she slid her hand behind his neck, tangled her fingers in his hair.  “As often as me?” she asked, tugging his head down towards her. “Kiss me.”

He did, but it was careful. Cautious. She hated it. Instinct drove her and she deepened the kiss, took it rougher. She felt the response inside her body, in the hard, driving rhythm of his hips against hers. Not enough, again. It was instinct that had her

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pulling back from his kiss  –  just a little. Just enough.  Enough so  that she could sink her teeth into his lower lip and bite. He froze.  A smug smile curled her lips as she met his  eyes.

A rough growl escaped him. His eyes dropped to her mouth and he swore, crushing his lips to hers. At the same time, he slid a hand down her side, palmed her bottom and lifted her. One deep thrust, then another. Another. It hit hard, fast hot, slamming through them with hurricane force. Tearing her mouth away, she cried out his name while he buried his face in her neck, groaning.

Heart pounding in her ears, struggling to breathe, she closed her eyes. He rolled off her and pulled her up against him,

stroking a hand up and down her back. “Are you OK?”

“Hmmmm.” Sara couldn’t quite find the energy to lift her

lids, but that was OK.

“Not an answer, damn it. You’ve got a concussion. What in

the hell was I thinking?”

Heaving out a sigh, she forced her eyes open and reached up, pressing her fingers to his mouth. “Stop. I’m fine. Tired. But fine.”

Very, very tired, actually. Her lids felt weighted and she didn’t bother fighting it any more. With his hand stroking up and down her back, and his body warm and  strong against hers, she felt more at peace than she had in months. Since the last night with him.

Sleep dropped down on her hard and fast.

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She could have been asleep for two minutes or two hours.  Sara didn’t know. All she did know was the warmth and  security she’d felt while she slept in Wyatt’s arms was abruptly gone and she was unceremoniously shoved off the bed, hitting the floor on the far side.

“Stay down,” Wyatt growled.

Blinking, trying to force her brain to wake up, she peered up over the side of the bed as the hotel door flew open. The vampire standing there was the one who’d grabbed her the night before. He flicked her a glance, a wide grin spreading across his face and then he looked at Wyatt. She saw his hand come up.  Saw her crossbow.

She screamed.

Wyatt dodged away, evading the other vampire with ease.  Sara scrambled across the bed, reaching for her gun. A cold hand grabbed her ankle.

Wyatt snarled. “Let her go.”

She kicked out, connecting with a belly that felt as hard as iron, but  he didn’t let go. He tugged and she lunged, made another grab for her gun  –  and this time, she got it. Because he’d let her go  –  or rather, been forced to let her go. Drywall cracked as Wyatt threw him into the wall.

Sara turned just in time to see Wyatt  reaching for the other vampire and the other vampire lifting her crossbow. Time slowed down to a crawl. There was a scream trapped inside her head, one that couldn’t break free. But as the silver-tipped bolt pierced Wyatt’s chest, Sara jerked her gun up, sighted and pulled the trigger. The muffles
 
pop
 
sounded terribly loud, although logically she knew nobody outside the hotel room could have heard it.

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Blood, bone and more grisly matter exploded and the other vampire slumped back. Dead. Totally dead, his body limp, the top half of his head gone.

But Sara didn’t care. She was too busy moving for Wyatt, catching his swaying body before he could crash to the floor.  Under his weight, she fell onto the bed, clutching him against her. “Wyatt . . .”

His amber eyes turned blindly towards her. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Get out of here, Sara. Somebody  . . . probably called the cops.” He started to cough and more blood stained his lips when the fit passed. “Get
 
out
.”

“Not without you.”

His lids lowered. “Can’t. Too close to the heart. I’m not going  ” – his body arched and shuddered “–anywhere. Not strong enough right now.”

Desperate, Sara shoved him off her lap, braced his weight on her side. “You’re not dying. I’m not leaving you here.” She closed her hand around the bolt and jerked. It wouldn’t budge.  “Help me, Wyatt.”

“Get out of here, Sara!” he rasped, his voice harsh, but

weaker.

“You want me out, you help me.”

He swore, but reached up, grabbed the bolt and ripped it out. It fell to the bed beside him as dark, dark red blood flowed from the wound. “Get out, Sara.”

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She barely heard him. She was too busy staring at the silver-tipped bolt.
 
Her
 
bolt.
 
Her
 
weapon. He was going to die because of her.

No
.

His voice came back to haunt her as she  stared at the

bloodied arrow.
 
Most of the mythology surrounding vampires is  either pure nonsense or highly exaggerated
.

Most. Not all. She barely remembered reaching for the  arrow. Didn’t remember pressing the barbed sharp edge to her  wrist and slicing her  flesh. Didn’t remember anything until she  wound her hand in his hair and guided his mouth to her wrist.

He jerked back. “No.”

“Yes.”

Wyatt grabbed her wrist and shoved it away. “
No
. Get out

of here, Sara. Get out, now.”

“You want me gone you’ll have to make me. You can’t do

that if you die.”

He shook his head, but even that took too much effort.

She went cold, somehow realizing he was out of time.  Sliding off the bed, she knelt so he could see her face. “Don’t die on me, Wyatt. Please don’t die. I haven’t spent the past year dreaming about you because the sex was good. I need you.”

His lashes barely flickered. Breath rattled out of his lungs.  All but blinded by tears, she shoved her wrist to his mouth once more. He brushed his lips, against her wrist. His lashes lifted and she stared into his eyes. “Please.”

He struck.

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It didn’t hurt. That was all she could think of as his mouth

worked at her wrist. It didn’t hurt  –  and it didn’t last more than a

few minutes. Still too much time thought, because, as  he shoved  off the bed, moving far too slow and stiff, she could hear the  wail of sirens in the distance.

“Get out of here,” he muttered, turning his head to look at

her.

The hole in his chest was no longer pumping out blood  but he still looked too damn pale. She grabbed her shirt from the floor, her jeans and hurriedly put them on. “Sure. You’re coming.”

His lids flickered. But he nodded, stumbled towards the door, just barely thought to grab the keys from the table and his shirt. On the way outside, she  wrapped it around her wrist in a messy, cumbersome bandage.

“Benz.” He mumbled.

She got the door open and he collapsed inside. She ran

around, climbed in, started up the car.

“Don’t speed,” he said, his voice thick, slurred.

“I won’t,” she said and forced a smile. “I’ve been evading

the police off and on for close to a year now.”

The next 30 minutes were silent. Too silent. She kept sending him looks, terrified he wasn’t going to make it and a few times she almost started to panic, because he wasn’t breathing. Did he even have to breath? But then his lids would move, he’d shift and her heart would start to beat again.

When he spoke up, his voice was strong, cutting through the

silence. “Pull over.”

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“Why?”

“Because I’m sitting here buck naked. Sooner  or later

somebody might notice.”

A familiar blue sign reflected back at her as her headlights splashed across it. “There’s a rest stop in a mile. I’ll pull over there.”

He was quiet. Didn’t speak at all as she pulled over at the rest stop or as he reached behind the seat and grabbed a bag, hauled it up and dressed. He managed to do both gracefully and silently  –  not easy considering he was sitting in the passenger seat of a car. Luxury car or not.

“We ready?”

“Not quite.” He grabbed her and hauled her into his lap, his  eyes focusing on her face. His fingers closed around her wrist,  unwrapping it. Tossing the bloodied, ruined shirt aside, he lifted  her wrist and studied the gash. “You shouldn’t have done that,”  he whispered, lifting her wrist to his mouth. She hissed as he  licked it, and she automatically tried to pull away.

“Be still,” he said.

“You’re licking a very sore open wound,” she said dryly.

“Hmmm. It will help it heal, keep it from getting infected.”  From under his lashes, he shot her a look.  “Why did you do  this?”