Читать книгу Vampire Undone - Shannon Curtis - Страница 10

Chapter 3

Lucien inhaled. God, she smelled so sweet. So different to the way he remembered. She’d smelled of innocence and illness, a little sunshine mixed with poison. Sweet, but with a playful, daring sense of mischief. She’d definitely changed, though. He’d first met her when she was nine years old and had last seen her on her nineteenth birthday. Six years later, she was dead. Or supposed to be.

He shifted even closer. He could feel her warmth, her heat, could smell her, something floral with a spicy edge. Today she wore a denim jacket, a shirt revealing that enticing glint of silver at her neck and jeans that looked real damn good on her. He stared into her brown eyes, saw the startled fear morph into something darker, warmer. She definitely wasn’t dead. Her gaze flickered briefly to his lips then back to his eyes.

He raised a hand to smooth her hair back behind her ear. “You weren’t thinking of leaving, were you?” Annoyance edged with disappointment washed over him, confusing him amid a rising tide of attraction. Her intentions were obvious. He’d watched her briefly from the lengthening shadows. She’d crammed pretty much everything barring the kitchen sink into her car. Thank God, he’d thought to disable the car. If she’d left...

Well, she had. She’d been ready to turn her back on him and walk away without a backward glance, and that probably hurt more than last night’s realization. He narrowed his eyes. Time for a different approach.

She lifted her chin. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said. Her voice came out all soft and husky, and he could see the pulse fluttering in her neck, could hear the soft whisper of her breath and could almost feel the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. If he leaned forward just a little more... He couldn’t help the flare of curiosity—what would she feel like, her body pressed against his? Her eyes darkened, just a little, but he couldn’t smell fear on her. No, there was something else, something innately familiar that his body recognized before his mind could.

Desire. It was like a shock, but a warm shock, as his body reacted before his brain could engage. This wasn’t the little girl he’d once befriended.

He trailed his hand from her shoulder down her arm to slide in and rest on the indent of her waist. Soft curves. Warm heat. Blood pooled in his groin, his breathing quickened.

“Then let’s not talk,” he murmured and dipped his head. She gasped at the move and his lips took hers.

There was no slow familiarization, no tentative movements. Instant arousal, hard and sharp, gripped his body as his tongue slid against hers. Her hands rose to his chest and, for a moment, her palms flattened against his shirt and he thought she was going to push him away. He leaned his hips against hers, knew she could feel the effect she had on him. Her hands clutched at the fabric, pulling him closer, and she opened her mouth to him.

He crowded her back against the wall, sighing as his body pressed fully against hers, feeling the soft swell of her breasts against his chest, her pants as his hand slid from her waist to her butt, pulling her closer, tighter. And all the time, their lips and tongues played.

God, it was so hot, so fierce, this need to have her. She felt so damn good in his arms. His attraction to her last night paled in comparison to the rushing heat and desire swamping him now. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, feeling her breath mingle with his as she panted against him.

He wanted her. Now.

He shifted slightly, pulling her toward the door, and again encountered that impenetrable wall of resistance from the house.

He growled, bending low and clasping her around the thighs, lifting her up against his rock-hard arousal. God, she felt so warm there. His cock swelled and all he could think about was her, surrounding him. Her arms slid around his shoulders and she thrust her breasts against him as he wrapped her legs around his waist, his coat enveloping them both.

“Let me in,” he whispered and rocked her against his hips.

She shuddered in his arms. Her nipples were tight little nubs against his chest. “Yes,” she moaned before dipping her head to catch his lips.

He felt the invisible wall in her doorway disappear and he stumbled inside her home.

With one hand cupping her butt, he trailed the other one up her body, pulling her shirt along with it. Her skin—God, it felt so good, so smooth and warm. He could feel her stomach muscles shift under his touch, and they both moaned when his hand found her lace-covered breast.

He strode into the room, angling his head briefly to peer beyond her, although she kept distracting him with those soft little pants and those sexy little hip rolls that she did against him. He tried to find some place, anywhere—The kitchen table caught his eye and he carried her over to it.

The surface was clear—not that he cared—and he kicked a chair away, ignoring the clatter it made as it skidded across the floor. His senses were preoccupied by the smoking-hot, writhing woman in his arms. His own arousal was at fever pitch, clenching his body in a tight grip. He was so hard, so ready, stunned with the force of it, but willing to let it take control.

He kissed her hard and long, tongue lashing against hers as he rested her butt on the edge. He took hold of her ponytail and lowered her down on to the table, their lips and tongues tangling.

She moaned as he stepped into the juncture of her thighs and he could sense her heat, her dampness, right where he wanted to feel it most.

His lips left hers, trailing across her jaw and partway down to her neck. He stopped short of the chain. Her pulse was hammering away in her throat, matching his in a frenzied beat. He kissed her behind her ear, gently raking his teeth against the sensitive curve of her neck. She flinched. Tensed. Then shoved him with enough force that he flew across the room until he hit the kitchen island and fell to the floor.

She sat up on the table, her eyes glowing silver, as she clutched her neck.

“You bastard,” she hissed.

* * *

How. Dare. He.

Natalie slid off the table, trying to calm her thumping heart, to wrestle her body under control. Her knees were like jelly and she had to lean back against the table for support. Tension gripped her; she couldn’t identify whether it was fear or desire that made her feel weak. Probably both. She pushed the memories from her mind. That wasn’t now. She wanted to run. She wanted to fight. She wanted to purr. She didn’t know what she wanted.

“You bastard,” she hissed again. She pulled her shirt down, trying to smooth it over her hips, wishing she could restore order to her pounding heart and desire-drenched body as easily as she did her clothing. Damn it, she hadn’t even thought to use her lariat or the dagger in her boot. Hopeless. She eyed Lucien.

He shook his head, as though stunned, and eyed the distance between them. “What happened?” he said, his expression confused and maybe a little frustrated. He glanced at the kitchen island that had stopped his flight. A chip of caesarstone fell to the floor.

“Get out of my house,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Lucien rose, rubbing the back of his head. He quickly composed himself as he leaned against the kitchen island. “No. You invited me in.”

He wore that stubborn look that had always struck her as annoying but sweet. Now, though, she didn’t think it was so sweet, just annoying. I invited him in?

She frowned and opened her mouth to argue, only a faint memory of her panting “yes” stopped her. He had asked, and she’d invited him in. The fact he was inside her kitchen testified to it. Damn it. He’d used her. He’d kissed her, twisted her in knots, just to get his ass inside her home. Once in, you couldn’t evict a vampire. At least, not easily.

“Nice place,” he said, eyeing the interior of her home casually. He gestured to the frames that could be seen on the hall wall. “The photos are a nice touch.”

“God, what is it with you vampires that you’ll stoop so low?” she rasped, ignoring his offhand effort at conversation.

His gaze swept over her, pausing on her hips. “I was prepared to stoop much lower,” he said in a voice that sounded deep, husky and just a little gravelly with tension.

It brought a tremble to her knees and a catch to her breath as images of what they could be doing right now, if she hadn’t stopped him, flooded her mind as though on a rapidly spinning film reel...along with a good dose of mortification. Damn it. Seriously? This is Lucien. What was wrong with her?

“I can’t believe you’d be willing to use your body to get what you want, that you would use me,” she said, injecting scorn into her voice, and hoping she could inject her spine with a little bit of steel when it came to Locky-Lips Lucien. She shook her head. “I refuse to be some toy for you vampires to play with and then discard—or kill—whenever it suits you.”

“I’m not toying with you,” he snapped, bracing his hands on the counter behind him.

He had the audacity to look offended. She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really? Suddenly, after all these years, you track me down because you actually want...me? You didn’t even know I existed until yesterday. This,” she said, gesturing between them, “isn’t about us. It’s about you, and how far you’ll go to save your sister.” She refused to give in to the hurt. He was playing a game. That’s all this was.

His lips tightened. “I will do whatever I can to save my sister,” he admitted. He tilted his head. “You would do the same, given the chance.”

It was like a wave of frigid water sucked her down into a whirlpool—dizzying and frightening and oh, so cold, sucking the energy, the fight, out of her. “I can’t believe you said that to me,” she whispered. “You know better than that.”

He stepped away from the counter, his frown harsh. “Do I?” He shook his head. “I thought I knew better. I thought you were dead—and you’re clearly not.” He ran his hands through his hair, his fingers tightening in the ebony strands. “My God, Ni—Natalie. I thought I’d lost you.”

“You did lose me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I know how much your family means to you, Lucien. Maybe this gives you some idea of what I went through.”

He gaped at her for a moment then stepped closer, his hands at his sides. “Is that what this is about? Revenge? I didn’t do this to you, Natalie.”

Her smile was brittle as she stepped forward, closing the distance between them until she could look him straight in those gorgeous blue eyes. “I’ll always be here for you,” she whispered, satisfaction coursing through her when she saw him pale as she threw his words back in his face, the way she’d wanted to do for forty years. “I watched my family die, and you were nowhere to be seen, Lucien. Now it’s your turn to watch yours die, knowing someone could have helped but decided not to. Just like you did.”

“I did not decide to abandon you, Natalie.” His voice was low, like rocks spilling over gravel. “I didn’t know. I was at one of my father’s events.”

Her lips tightened. His father... She thought Lucien had left Irondell because of her, because of that one stupid, innocent little kiss when she was just a little too drunk and a little less inhibited. Even now, her cheeks warmed at the memory. He’d been such a gentleman, too. Told her that she’d find a guy who was close to her age, and was ready to share with her all the adventures Lucien had already had. That he was too old, too cynical and world-weary for her, but that he loved her—as a friend. And then he’d left. Sure, they’d kept in touch via email—as friends. But every time he’d promised to visit, something always came up, and was always because of his father.

She’d followed all of his progress, reading anything she could find in the news articles, researching online. He’d been doing well, over there. Away from her. She folded her arms. “Yeah. I know. Looking after your family interests. Sorry, Marchetta. Your trip here was wasted. There is no cure for a werewolf bite, not for a vampire. You should go home and be with your sister.” Her lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “I know how much your family means to you.”

His brow darkened and she watched the flicker of myriad emotions pass across his face until his expression was once again implacable. “Help me, Natalie. If not for what we once meant to each other, then for the sake of natural curiosity. I at least know that much about Professor Segova—her keen interest in the occult and cultural mythology.”

So he’d done his research on her, huh? Well, it wasn’t a secret that she loved her work and found it fascinating. She’d even managed to do a couple of field trips to track down arcane objects and sites of significant cultural importance. Then the rest of his words sank in. What they’d once meant to each other? Well, she knew that apparently she’d put more stock into their relationship than he had. She’d call him on it, too, if she could just put voice to those challenging words. What had she meant to him? But then she’d have to hear his response and she wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to have this whole damn conversation with Lucien, quite frankly. She’d drawn a line under that time in her life. All that had died when she had.

She shook her head, keeping her mouth shut. Just let sleeping dogs lie.

Lucien sighed and his breath whispered across her cheek. This close, she could feel his warmth, feel the life in his non-dead, too-gorgeous body. “What would it take for you to help me, Natalie?” His voice was soft, almost pleading—well, about as pleading as Lucien Marchetta could get. “Name it.”

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer so that only a whisper separated her lips from his. She lifted her gaze to his eyes. “My family for yours.”

She saw the instant that anger and pain flared in those eyes and rested back on her heels, triumphant for a brief moment at causing that reaction, quashing the shame that rode on triumph’s tail.

She’d struck him in the heart. She knew from personal experience how important his family was to him, and how much he would sacrifice for them. It would eat him alive, this helplessness at not being able to help his sister. He’d crossed the desert based on a rumor of a cure to save his sister from a fate that was universally accepted as a natural, inevitable consequence. She just wished he’d fought against nature so thoroughly for her. Resisting him, not helping him—he would hate her for that.

And then he’d leave. And then maybe she could go back to her not-so-normal life.

She turned her back on him and walked toward her living room.

Lucien grasped her arm, turning her and forcing her up against the wall. His eyes were blazing red, his nostrils flared.

“Do you really hate me so much?” he yelled, the rage almost tangible. “Are you willing to let an innocent person die because of this petty, spiteful hate of yours?”

Her eyes widened as her anger coursed through her at his words that hit just a little too close to home. “Innocent? Your sister is a vampire, Lucien. She lost any dregs of innocence centuries ago. Petty? Spiteful? My family died. I died. Forgive me if that detail seems so trivial to you.”

“Damn you, help me save my sister!”

She saw his muscles bunch, heard the thunk as his fist hit the wall, felt the wall shudder under the impact. She raised her chin. “Or what, Lucien? You’ll beat me to a pulp? Maybe bite me a bit? That’s what you vampires like to do, isn’t it? Take little bites to torment and drain your victims? Or do you want to kill me?” She laughed as he blanched and stepped away from her. “Honestly, if you could figure out a way to do it, I’d be thankful. I’ve tried a few things and nothing has stuck.”

He blinked as he backed up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you can’t do anything to me I haven’t already tried.” She yanked off her gloves and held up her wrists, twisting them outward to show him the smooth skin. “See, I don’t even scar now. Drowning? Well, that doesn’t work, either. And electrocution stings, but the hangover when you come to isn’t worth it.”

His frown deepened. “You’ve...you’ve tried to kill yourself?”

His words were a little breathless, as though she’d punched him in the stomach. He was the first person she’d admitted that to, although why, she had no idea.

She shrugged. “Doesn’t count if it doesn’t work,” she muttered. She eyed him as he turned away briefly from her, his hand rising to rub his chin.

“Why—” he cleared his throat “—why would you do that?” He turned to her, his expression pained.

She gave a sad sigh that sounded like a dying violin. “I have no one, Lucien. My mom, my dad... There is nobody left. Every night I come home to an empty house. There are no Christmases or birthdays. Anyone who once knew me, once cared about me, is long gone. I have no...” She swallowed. “I have no one.” The last words came out in a whisper and she had to blink to fight back the burn in her eyes. God, she sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.

He reached for her but stopped midway and turned, his shoulders taut. He stood still for a moment and she desperately wanted to see his face, desperately wanted a clue as to what was going on inside his head—although she’d never had much luck reading the man. He reached in and pulled an object out of his pocket. His face looked ravaged by emotion as he gently pressed the book against her chest, forcing her to clasp it.

“That’s not true, Natalie,” he murmured, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that made her lower her stare. “You had me.”

He walked through her living room to her front door and she glanced down at the book she held. She barely registered the sound of her front door opening and closing. Her breath caught as she recognized the dark red hardcover and embossed cursive font on the cover. Her old book of poetry from the Romantic era. Tears swam in her eyes, blurring her vision, but her hands clasped the tome tightly. He still had it, still carried it with him. She’d given it to him that last night, all dramatic and fanciful as only a nineteen-year-old girl with a massive crush could be. He’d just told her she was his greatest friend, and that he had to leave—for business. She should have just painted a bright red L on her forehead for loser. But no, she’d thought perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance there could be more between them, and she’d pressed it into his hands.

Carry this with you and think of me when you read it, she’d told him. He’d smiled and hugged her close, and she’d hugged him back, cherishing the moment of being held in his arms just one more time.

And then he’d left and she hadn’t seen him until yesterday. She hefted the book in her hands. She couldn’t believe he still carried it with him. All these years...

Had he read it and thought of her? Had he actually missed her, maybe? She closed her eyes and held the book close to her chest and inhaled. The book carried faint traces of his scent, as well as the slight musk of years gone past.

“Puhleeze. Would you rather hug a book or that beautiful man?” A feminine voice sighed and Natalie jerked, her eyes popping open in surprise.

A young girl sat on the arm of a sofa, swinging her legs and popping gum. She wore a navy sweater, plaid skirt and long white socks. Her hair was pulled back in a curly ponytail. She frowned when she met Natalie’s eyes. “Oh, my God. You can see me?”

* * *

Lucien halted at Natalie’s front gate. A black BMW sedan was parked across the road, the windows tinted dark with tempered glass. Another vampire. The back passenger’s window slid down and he sighed when recognized the vampire. He schooled his features as he crossed the road to greet his father. He didn’t want Vincent Marchetta to see how devastated and shocked he was. Exposing that depth of vulnerability was a recipe for prolonged punishment from his sire. He should know; he’d modeled his own behavior on the man.

He braced his hand on the roof of the car. “What are you doing here?” he asked without preamble.

Vincent sat back in the seat, his face all dark and brooding in the moonlight.

“I would ask you the same question,” his father responded, his expression closed.

“I need to track down a lead.”

His father snorted. “I can’t believe you bought into this fairy tale,” he snapped.

Lucien ignored his father’s contempt. He’d grown adept at doing it. He focused instead on the man’s words. “I’m not sure if I’ve totally bought into it,” he said, “but if there is a chance we can save Viv, then I’ll do everything in my power to do so.”

“So you go off gallivanting again while a member of your family lies dying,” Vincent snarled.

Lucien’s arm muscles tightened on the roof of the car for a moment. His father’s words were full of anger, condemnation and something darker that Lucien didn’t want to put a name to. They called up gruesome memories and pain—so much pain. And guilt. Shame. Anger. He shoved the tumultuous emotions behind a cold curtain of composure. He flexed his fingers on the smooth surface of the car and straightened.

“I didn’t do this to her, Dad,” he said quietly, gazing down the street. “I intend to save her.”

“Well, we all know where your good intentions get people,” his father muttered.

Lucien gritted his teeth, his muscles flexing in his cheek. It was dark now, although the sky still bore traces of burnt orange—the light of a sun reluctant to relinquish its grasp on the day.

“Your witch friend told me what you were up to,” Vincent said calmly. Lucien’s lips quirked. He wished he’d been there to see that. Dave Carter was renowned for not giving a damn about position or power, and wouldn’t have given his father the respect the old man believed was his due.

Sometimes, he envied Dave Carter. Not a lot, but sometimes. Lucien said nothing, but turned to look at his father expectantly.

Vincent’s brown eyes took on a serious glint. “Your sister’s condition is getting worse. I understand a certain Professor Segova is proving resistant?”

Lucien glanced at Natalie’s quaint little home. She still hadn’t turned on any lights. “She’ll come around.”

“We don’t have time for that. I’ll leave Enzo here, to assist.” His father indicated the driver’s seat and Lucien leaned down to glance into the dark interior. His father’s guardian nodded at him, his expression bland.

Lucien pinned Enzo with a lethal glare. “You won’t go anywhere near her,” he stated slowly and succinctly. “She is off-limits to you. And you,” he told his father. “I’ll take care of this.” He was still upset with Natalie—furious, really—but he didn’t want his father or the guardian prime to get involved.

Enzo arched an eyebrow and curiosity flared in his eyes as he briefly glanced toward the house. Lucien didn’t care that his remark would draw more attention to Natalie. He knew what kind of “assistance” was being offered and he didn’t want it anywhere near Natalie. Damn it, she’d already been through enough.

“I don’t take orders from my son,” Vincent pointed out mildly. “Whatever it takes, she has to tell us what she knows—and you know Enzo has certain skills to make people talk.”

That was the problem. Lucien knew exactly what Enzo was capable of. Natalie thought she couldn’t die—a fact that intrigued him. A woman who could resist compulsion, couldn’t die, and possessed the strength of ten men—going by the way their kiss had ended so abruptly—yet she wasn’t a vampire. She was all warmth and vitality in his arms, all soft heat and lush curves—Damn it, he wasn’t going to think about that. But she thought death couldn’t claim her. Well, she’d be screaming for death before Enzo was through with her.

A four-by-four pickup turned the corner and drove slowly down the street. Lucien met his father’s gaze briefly before the young man turned into Natalie’s driveway. Lucien recognized the guy from several photos on Natalie’s hallway wall.

He shook his head at Vincent. “I said, I’ll take care of this.” He stepped away from the BMW and crossed the street, back in the direction of Natalie’s house.