Читать книгу Fury Calls - Caridad Pineiro - Страница 9

The Blood Bank, New York CityThree years, eleven months and ten days earlier

Meghan and her friends had heard about the Goth bar rumored to have the kinds of men and pleasures in which good little Midwestern farm girls didn’t get involved.

All the more reason for her to check out the place, she’d thought, when one of her more world-weary college classmates had dared her to go to the hangout. After having spent the last four years in New York City as a good girl, she knew this was her last opportunity for a walk on the wild side before she headed home.

Her Midwestern parents expected her to do as they had done—a nine-to-five job, marriage by twenty-five, followed by kids and a nice home in the suburbs. The only problem with that American dream was that it wasn’t her own.

Meghan loved the whole Manhattan vibe and could easily imagine herself staying here, continuing to explore the kinds of things only Manhattan could offer.

Like this supposedly dangerous Goth bar.

It had taken the better part of the day to prepare for the senior dare.

She and her NYU friends had spent the morning searching a variety of vintage stores near Washington Square, rounding up accessories for their Goth getups. Two of her friends had even bought temporary black hair dye to make the look complete.

Meghan, however, had opted to keep her blond locks, thinking that her black clothes would be more than enough.

As she walked through the door of the Blood Bank, she reassessed that thought.

Black was definitely the one and only theme.

Everything and everyone in the bar was swathed in darkness.

The floors and walls were black, as were the surfaces of all the tables and booths scattered throughout the club. The dark color swallowed up the overhead spotlights that panned the sea of bodies on the dance floor and at the tables.

As the light swept the far end of the bar, however, she caught sight of one glaring platinum-blond head. The daring of that one brave individual brought a grin to her face before she forced it away and tried to adopt a serious glare in response to the threatening looks being sent her way by the patrons.

She slipped into a gap at the bar area, close to the spot where she had noticed the man with nearly white hair. After she and her friends had squeezed their way to the edge of the bar, they all ordered shots of Cuervo.

The punky, peroxide-headed Goth down at the end of the long wooden bar wasn’t drinking. Instead he shuffled an empty glass from one hand to the other. He had big hands with long, nicely shaped fingers. His hands were sure as he repeated the shuffle of the glass back and forth, obviously bored by all the goings-on around him.

When he finally picked up his head, their gazes connected.

He had amazing ice-blue eyes, and when he smiled, a sexy grin dragged a dimple out on the right side of his handsome face.

She smiled back, picked up her glass of tequila and downed it in one gulp, wincing at the strength of the straight liquor.

Mr. Platinum Punk clearly seemed amused by her as he chuckled and shook his head. The longer strands of hair at the top of his head shifted with the motion. He picked up his empty glass and motioned to it with an index finger. She noticed as he did so that he wore a steel ring with some kind of ornate design on his thumb and some thin black bracelets on his wrist.

He definitely had the whole Bad Boy thing down pat.

She didn’t need any further prompting, determined to live out the dare that had been made earlier in the day. The dare that said she not only had to visit the hangout but hook up with at least one bar denizen before leaving for the night. While she wasn’t into one-night stands, a makeout session with someone as sexy as the man at the end of the bar wouldn’t be so bad.

She shoved two fingers into the air and waved them to get the barkeep’s attention. When he brought the shots over, she reached into her jeans, pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the counter. Ignoring her friends’ excited squeals as they realized her intent, she sashayed the few feet to the handsome punk, smiling as his gaze drifted down her body to where her hips were encased in snug black jeans, then shifted back upward across her breasts and finally settled on her face.

Slipping onto the cracked plastic pad of the empty bar stool beside his, she slammed the shot onto the bar.

“This is what you wanted, right?” she said.

Blake’s gaze slipped from her attractive face to linger on her body, admiring all the lush curves. Her full breasts strained over the edge of the cotton tank top she wore beneath a leather jacket that was a bit too big, almost as if she had borrowed it for the night.

She shifted the glass closer to him and a hint of black lace peeked out from the neckline of the tank top as she said, “Well? Cat got your tongue?”

“No would be the answer to both of those questions, love.” He pitched the tone of his voice low, striving for that sexy rasp women seemed to find so enticing.

“Brit?” she asked before downing the contents of her shot glass. As she had done before, she winced after the drink went down.

“New to this, love?” he teased.

He picked up his own glass and tossed back the drink, the strong liquor dragging a grimace from him, too. His preferred beverage—blood—generally went down smoother and had a far different kick.

She chuckled at his reaction and shook her head. “Seems you’re new to this as well.”

The liquor warmed his belly, but not as much as the thought of taking a nip out of her luscious flesh. Scooting to the edge of his bar stool, he leaned toward her, brushed aside her shoulder-length hair and whispered in her ear, “Cat definitely doesn’t have my tongue.”

To prove it, he licked the shell of her ear, and she couldn’t control the shiver that traveled over her body before she moved away from him.

“Fast, aren’t you?” she said, but her words lacked sting. An amused expression slipped across her cute Girl-Next-Door features before she resumed the scowl she had worn when he had first noticed her.

“That makes two of us, doesn’t it?”

She arched a perfectly waxed brow. “So you think you and I are alike somehow?”

He eyeballed her from head to toe again before signaling the bartender for another round. The man sneered and ignored his request until Blake reached into his jacket pocket and tossed a hard-earned twenty onto the bar. After that, the bartender deposited the shots with little finesse and snagged the payment quickly.

Blake raised his glass and slugged down the drink, as did his companion. After mutual grimaces, he motioned to her with the empty tumbler. “I think that getup you’re wearing is borrowed and the shots are for courage, love. I think you might even be a cheerleader in another life. Am I wrong?”

Meghan crinkled her nose in response.

“A cheerleader?” she said, but damn, did she resent that he had nailed it on the head. Deciding a little payback was in order, she pointed at his getup with a perfectly manicured finger sporting blush pink polish. “That look is so carbon-dated. Besides, a cheerleader beats a bad Billy Idol clone any day.”

To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. When he faced her again, that damned sexy grin and dimple were back, flushing her body with a warmth that had nothing to do with the liquor.

“Care to test that theory, love?”

“Test?”

He leaned close once again. The sharp scent of tequila wafted around him as he nuzzled her cheek with his nose and said, “You asked what I wanted before.”

“The tequila, right?”

“Wrong.”

He closed his mouth over hers, his lips surprisingly tender as he moved them against hers, inviting her to understand just what he wanted.

Possibly what she wanted as well, she thought, as she opened her mouth and accepted the sweet slide of his tongue. She shivered as he slipped his hand to the nape of her neck and cradled her close.

“Get a room, Blake.”

She jumped away from him at the abrupt command coming from beside them. A lean rail of a man, with skin so translucent and pale that he almost seemed like a ghost, slipped his hand between them and slapped it on the bar.

The specter jerked his head in the direction of the barkeep, and the shoulder-length strands of his nearly white hair barely shifted, hanging lankly around a thin, long face. “If he hasn’t got the cash, get him out of here so a paying customer can sit.”

“He’s flush tonight, boss. So’s his girl,” the bartender responded.

“Is there a problem?” Meghan snared the sleeve of the boss man’s suit and daintily pulled his arm out of the way.

The man’s cold gray eyes searched her face before he turned that condemning gaze on her companion.

“Take your little adventures to one of the back rooms, Blake.”

Blake. The name suited him somehow. Short and to the point, but a little pretentious, much like his punk getup.

Annoyed by the man’s attitude, and recalling that earlier sweet kiss that he had interrupted, she laid her hand on Blake’s thigh and said, “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Her touch on his thigh, a combination of natural innocence and practiced seduction, burned through the denim.

“Are you sure, love?” he asked, not quite believing his luck.

“Chicken?” She eased from the bar stool and held out her hand.

He slipped his hand into hers. Her warm, silky skin awakened imaginings of how the rest of her would feel pressed against him. He suspected that tonight he would finally satisfy both the demon and the human.

Eagerly he followed her to where Foley’s vampire guard blocked the hall leading to the back rooms.

The vamp barely glanced at him while he rubbed together his thumb and index finger. Blake didn’t hesitate to reach into his pocket for his last twenty. He handed it to the man, who shot him an annoyed look and grunted, “Last one on the left.”

The smallest of the rooms, Blake knew, but it would hopefully do for whatever was going to happen with Little Miss Cheerleader.

She led the way, the sharp staccato of her high-heeled boots setting a rhythm as they walked to the farthest room on the left and paused before the door. He detected her hesitation then, in the slight hitch her breath gave and the waver of her hand in his.

“Nervous?” He cradled her cheek, his touch meant to soothe, but as his gaze met hers, he sensed her sudden reluctance.

Her eyes were an amazing emerald green and as her gaze swept over his face, she said, “I have a confession to make.”

“Kind of cliché at this moment, don’t you think?”

A hint of bravado flared to life in her eyes, bringing a plucky twinkle there. “Actually, the confession is that I’m kind of glad I accepted my friend’s dare.”

“A dare? Is that what I am, love?”

She shocked him by rising a bit on her tiptoes and kissing him. Her lips were warm and alive as she swept them across his mouth, then she cradled his cheek with her hand. When she finally broke away, she trailed her thumb across the slick wetness her lips had left behind on his, bringing to life an intense desire with that seductive touch.

It had been way too long since a woman had been able to reach that part of him.

“What do you think?” she said and with a wink, she opened the door, but stopped short at the sight of an assortment of whips, chains and cuffs tacked to the far wall.

He slipped in behind her and laid his hands at her waist. Bending, he whispered in her ear, “I don’t think we’ll have need of those.”

“At least not tonight,” she said, striving for a bravado that she wasn’t feeling. This definitely was not the kind of thing she had expected to encounter.

Nervously Meghan placed her hands over his as they rested at her waist. His hands were chilled. With the same reticence she was suddenly experiencing? she wondered.

“Having second thoughts?” she asked, as she faced him.

Wordlessly he moved his hands to cradle her back. His movements were sure and yet surprisingly tender as he swept them up to her shoulders. With a deft touch, he slipped her jacket off and let it fall to the ground.

“That’s better,” he said.

He ran his hands across the skin of her bare arms and the exposed expanse of her shoulders. Stroking her softly, the palms of his hands felt slightly rough against her skin. They felt like hands of someone who did physical work for a living.

“You’re so warm. Smooth,” he said.

His gentle touch roused her and drove away her earlier hesitation. From the rough look of him, she had expected that he wouldn’t be much for preliminaries, but she had been wrong. He caressed her skin before bending to kiss her.

The kiss started with a soft whisper of his lips against hers as he explored the shape of her mouth before he finally covered her mouth with his. Tentative at first, the kiss deepened by degrees until she was finally straining against him, her hands fisted in the soft leather of his jacket, pulling herself closer to him.

He took the next step then, easing his jacket off. It fell to the floor with a jangle of chains.

Beneath the jacket he wore a black T-shirt that hugged every hard line of his lean body. Meghan found that she was suddenly impatient to see more.

She grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, exposing a body that looked to be sculpted from the palest alabaster.

He wasn’t a tall man, barely inches over her own five-foot-seven height, but what there was of him was magnificently formed male. Broad shoulders, big enough to bear any burden, were thick with hard muscles that felt smooth beneath the palms of her hands. She measured the strength in them before trailing her fingers down his well-defined chest to his abdomen and then back up. She ran her fingers through the pale whorls of hair on his chest, which matched the arrogant color on his head.

“You really are a blond,” she teased, and stroked her index finger over the hard nub of his nipple.

“Are you?” he asked, and picked up his hand, trailed the rough pads of his fingers along the swell of her breasts exposed by the low neckline of the tank top and the push-up bra she wore. His actions got an immediate response as her nipples tightened in anticipation of his touch.

She looked up at him and curved her lips in what she hoped was a seductive smile. “You may have to wait a bit to find out.”

Blake laughed, her bravado stirring something deep within him. Something that couldn’t wait a second longer to take their little interlude to the next step.

He reached for the neckline of her tank top and slipped his fingers beneath, pulling away both shirt and bra with a quick tug. He heard the snap of the bra strap and felt the give as her breasts slipped free of all the fabric.

Her creamy skin was a sharp contrast to her black clothing. A flush worked over her flesh at his perusal, tempting him to feel the warmth of it against his palm.

He cupped her, and the heat of her nipple seemed to burn a hole into his palm. Still, he didn’t pull back. Instead he stroked her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

The action dragged a soft moan from her and she copied his actions, tweaking his hard male nipple with her fingers, jerking his erection to painful life.

Her gaze slipped there for but a moment before she leaned forward and closed her mouth over his nipple.

He shut his eyes against the sensation that rocketed through his body and focused on the feel of her breast in his hand, all warm and creamy. Her pulsebeat was loud in his ears and vibrated against his hand as it rested inches away from her heart, reminding him of what he was not.

Alive. Alive. Alive, drummed loudly in his head in the same beat as her pulse.

“You’re cold,” she said, In response, he called forth a bit of his demon, driving away the chill in his body to allay her concern.

“Blake?” she asked, and he realized that he didn’t even know her name.

“That’s my name, and you’re…”

“Meghan,” she said in a husky whisper, as he bent his head and took her hard nipple in his mouth.

She cradled him close, her hand snaking through his hair to keep him near as she arched her back.

Not that he was going anywhere, he thought. He sucked on her nipple and relished the soft mewl of pleasure that came from her.

He shifted his other hand upward, tugged down the rest of her shirt and bra so that he could pleasure her other breast with his mouth until it wasn’t enough.

“Touch me, Meghan,” he almost begged. When she ran her hands across the width of his shoulders, he surged upward, wrapping his arms around her waist and crushing her tight to his body.

“Blake, what—”

He silenced her with a kiss and walked with her to the edge of the bed, but then he slowly eased her down his body, the smooth hard tips of her breasts brushing along him, awakening fire wherever she touched. The sensation elicited a shiver from him.

“Has it been that long?” Meghan asked, surprising him with her sensitivity.

He shocked himself by admitting, “Since I felt something like this? Too long, love.”

“Why?” she wondered aloud, even as she tenderly ran her hands across his shoulders and then let them dip down to cover the muscles of his chest with one hand while she placed the other flat over his heart.

Her touch reached deep within him, to emotions he thought he had suppressed long ago. Covering her hand with his, he said, “Let’s not go there tonight.”

He didn’t think it was possible that the green of her eyes could get any darker, but with his words, her pupils deepened to almost black with emotion. Reaching up, she cradled his cheek, tracing the sharp line of it.

“Where would you like to go tonight?”

“To heaven,” he said, as he bent his head and took her lips with his once again.

“Heaven it is, then,” Meghan murmured as she accepted the gentle pass of his lips over hers. His touch was tentative, almost pleading. The emotions it roused sank its hooks deep into her heart, scaring her with their intensity.

She laid her hands on his shoulders as he effortlessly picked her up and placed her on the bed. When he joined her there, he lay beside her fully. Their bodies barely brushed, but it was enough to make her want more.

She cupped the swell of his pectoral muscle and ran her thumb across the hard nub. A small shudder racked his body, emboldening her.

“Ah, love. That feels good.” He looked down at her hand where she continued to strum his tight nipple.

She smiled, filled with a bravado she hadn’t known she possessed. In a playful tone she said, “Well, if it feels good for you, I imagine that it might feel good for me, too.”

He chuckled and met her gaze, amusement glittering in his crystal-blue eyes. With a cocky grin on his face, he passed the back of his hand across her breast, dragging a rough sigh from her at the pleasure that simple touch created in her core.

“Is that the sound of good, luv?”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh, then took his nipple between her fingers, rotated it gently. At their hips, where their bodies were closest, she felt the jump of his erection, a reaction that was echoed in the sympathetic pull between her legs. She twined her legs with his and he pushed his thigh upward, tight against the growing pulse at her center.

As she rode him, trying to assuage her need, he took her hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled on it gently then gave it a playful twist, which yanked a moan from her.

He immediately seized on that sound of desire.

“So was that the sound of…even better?” he teased, even as he was bending his head and she was arching her back, offering herself up to him.

His lips closed over her nipple. He sucked the tip before circling the hard nub with his tongue and then teething it into an even tighter point. She cradled his head close and as he suckled her she thrust her hips against his.

He responded by increasing the pull of his mouth and insinuating his thigh ever tighter against her.

She rode him with growing need, but recalling his earlier playfulness and wanting to join in it, she said, “And this is the sound of un-freakin’-believable,” and finally released the low, long moan that had built within her at his actions.

Her words pulled a rough laugh from him and made his already full erection swell to painful proportions. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her. Nothing except possibly a taste of her humanity.

A bite of the life held tight against him.

Her heart beat furiously against his ear as he once again brought his mouth to her breast and suckled. The warmth of her—her mortal warmth—bathed his upper body with heat. The smell of her—all musky femininity—covered by the tight jeans that she wore brought sweet temptation.

The bit of vampire he had released earlier to warm her became a pool of heat at the center of him, growing ever stronger with each touch and taste of her. As she slipped her hand downward and covered his erection, a shudder ripped through him and the fire of the vampire flared across his body, breaking free and wanting dominion.

He fought the demon’s control, fearing the strength of the emotion she had called forth. He feared it even as he acknowledged that he had never experienced anything like it in either of his lives.

She must have sensed the difference in him, since she urged him up from her breast and rubbed her lips against his. “I’m afraid too, Blake. I’m afraid of how much I like the way I feel with you.”

Her confession undid the last dregs of his humanity and released the demon.

“Forgive me, love,” he said as he gently eased her head to the side and bit down.

Pain seared through her neck, but immediately after came intense desire that made her entire body throb for fulfillment.

Meghan held him close, moaning and riding his thigh as desire gripped her hard, refusing to let go much like he seemed unable to release her. The pulse of her need beat through her body and seemed to echo from his, but little by little that beat grew weaker and erratic. Somehow she realized that the fading rhythm was that of her heart, failing slowly as Blake continued to suck at her neck until only a negligible thrum remained.

Cold enveloped her body. Weakness. Her extremities became numb and useless.

As Blake finally pulled away, she caught a glimpse of his face. Long, blood-stained fangs extended well beyond his upper lip. The ice blue of his eyes burned with almost phosphorescent brightness and called to her as her eyesight dimmed.

“Sweet Jesus, Meghan. I’m sorry, love. So sorry,” he said, but his words were growing distant, as if she was fading away. Maybe she was.

A part of her brain understood that she was dying and struggled to hold on. To not let go of what little life remained. That consciousness latched onto the feel of him cradling her. Of the wetness of tears on her face and then the saltiness of something warm against her lips.

“Drink, Meghan,” she heard, and knew that he was offering her life. She didn’t know how she knew it, she just did, as if something deep in her subconscious had elemental knowledge of what he offered.

All she knew at that moment was that she didn’t want to die.

She was only twenty-one and she wasn’t ready to die.

She opened her mouth and placed it against the flesh he offered. She drank of the warmth of his life’s blood. With each pull of her mouth and each sip, strength grew in her body. She felt strength infusing each cell until she was able to force herself away from him.

With a brutal shove she drove him from her. As he rose from the floor beside the bed where he had fallen, he gazed down at her with eyes filled with tears, but they created no emotion in her other than hatred. Within her, fury rose with the realization that he had irrevocably changed her life.

She sat up and grabbed at her clothes, and when he would have reached for her, she slapped away his hands.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.”

“Ever is a long time now, luv,” he said sadly.

“It is forever now, isn’t it? You made me something other than human.”

At his nod, she said, “I’ll hate you forever.”

He morphed back to his human form then and despite her statement, emotion rose up in her at the sadness in his eyes and at the words he uttered next.

“No need to waste your emotion, Meghan. I’ll hate myself on your behalf.”