02 Blood Roses - Blackthorn (26 page)

She slid out of the booth, too overwhelmed to notice at first that he had actually let her go.

She burst back through the door, letting it ricochet against the wall on her way out onto the cobbled street.

She saw the startled and somewhat amused stares of the clusters that stood around, but not one of them approached her.

And it was obvious why.

Some of them even took a backwards step as Leila glanced over her shoulder to see Caleb had followed her out.

She marched away, splashing through puddles, her anger, the pain at what he had suggested, too great to contain. The temptation to run was overwhelming, but she knew her trembling legs, let alone her heels, wouldn’t be able to carry her fast or far enough.

He caught hold of her arm, spinning her to face him.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she warned as she glowered up at him, yanking her arm free and stumbling back a step with the force. ‘You stay away from me.’

She looked over his shoulder to see the clusters in the distance had stopped chatting to look in their direction. It was clearly a sight they didn’t see often, and their morbid silence only confirmed that she was probably making an even bigger mistake challenging him in public than walking away from him in the first place.

But then maybe it wouldn’t do him any harm to feel even a snippet of the humiliation he had bestowed on her.

‘You might run this place but you don’t run me,’ she said loud enough for the others to hear. ‘I will never,
ever
subjugate myself to you. So you can go and fuck yourself, fuck your prophecies and fuck the whole of Blackthorn for all I care.’

His green eyes narrowed, his composure like the still waters before the tsunami.

‘Some great vampire leader you are.’ She looked past him at the crowds. ‘Did you hear that? That’s what I think of your rise to supremacy. That’s what I think—’

A split second later, she was in his arms, tight against his chest, his hand slammed over her mouth as he all but carried her to the alley on their left.

She caught her breath, kicked at his shins, digging her heels in, but he only lifted her higher, removed his hand from her mouth to pull the sandals from her feet.

He burst through the ajar door to the left, kicking it shut behind them, threw her sandals aside before slamming her up against the wall of the shaded interior of the abandoned house.

She glared up into his green eyes, now dark in the shadows, as he pinned her to the cold, hard wall with ease.

‘What’s the matter, Caleb? Is that composure faltering? Are you not getting your own way
again
?’ She knew prodding him further was unforgiveable, just as much for her own sake as his, but her anger was too rife. ‘What are you going to do this time? Because do you know what? I don’t even care anymore. And you hate that, don’t you? You’ve got no hold over me.’

His silence terrified her, his grip on her upper arms reminding her just how stupid she was being.

She could hear nothing but her own curt and shallow breaths in the silence, the dust of the abandoned room filling the air. She glanced nervously past him to the small vacuous room, the wooden, slatted stairs off to her right.

‘I’m not scared of you, Caleb,’ she added, glowering back at him.

‘Yes, you are, because you may be brave but you’re not stupid.’

She wasn’t stupid and neither was he. And she could see it in his eyes. She knew he’d want to make more of this than taking her to the Brink in some dark, derelict house, against some chipped and stained wall. He’d want to make more of it than just claiming his Tryan status in a moment of anger. But the thrill of the possibility inexplicably soared through her – that she could have wound him up enough to make that composure break. That she had driven him to that knife-edge – that she was the one daring him to act.

The breeze wafted what was left of curtains through the cracked windows, making them appear as though they were breathing – slowly, erratically. A contrast to her rapid pulse.

But she wasn’t as scared as she thought she’d be, and that gave her strength. She understood for the first time how the other serryns felt. How in control they felt and how addictive and thrilling that was. The release was intense. She had feared vampires all her life. Feared them since that vampire had tore her mother’s life from her in an alley not dissimilar to the one Caleb had forced her down. She had beaten that vampire then and she would beat this one now.

Only her feelings now couldn’t have been more different. His hands tight around her arms sent a flush of heat through her body, the heat gathering in her lower abdomen, her lips parted in anticipation of what he would do next. It wasn’t just thrilling, it was arousing to the point she couldn’t differentiate the two, her apprehension only intensifying it.

And as he let go and stepped away from the wall, she felt a laceration of disappointment. She wanted him to fight more. She needed him to fight more. And something inside her wanted him to retaliate – to punish her for the unforgiveable feelings stirring inside.

‘What’s wrong, Caleb?’ she asked. ‘Do you not know what to do now?’

His eyes darkened, but he didn’t move.

She took another step towards him, goading him against every sinew of common sense. But something inside her was taking over, wanting to break the vampire who stood in front of her. The vampire who dared to bargain with her over her sisters, who dared to keep her there against her will. And their equal standing added to her arousal. It felt liberating – liberating enough that she didn’t care of the consequences. The quiet voice inside her screamed for her to stop, but she couldn’t. Like a lovers’ argument, she knew she was pushing that one step too far. She knew she’d regret it, but she couldn’t control it.

‘Are you scared of me, Caleb?’ she asked, taking another step towards him. ‘After you dared to call me pathetic for being scared of you?’

He looked away, his eyes narrowed.

She should have read the signal. She should have taken notice of the way both his hands clenched; the tightness in his jaw, but the thrill was too much.

‘To think how I’ve spent years in fear of you. Of all your kind. And look at you – you don’t even know what to do with
yourself
let alone me. Am I one serryn too many for you? Have you finally lost your edge just when you need it most?’

His gaze snapped back to meet hers – his green eyes darkened enough to send a sweeping chill through her.

❄ ❄ ❄

The challenge in her eyes, let alone the belligerent insults that slipped so easily from those beautiful lips, was already more than enough to ignite the vampire inside as she dared to mock what she thought was weakness.

It was too much of a reminder. The house that they now stood in was not dissimilar to the one that first serryn had led him to. The bed he knew to be upstairs was not a far cry away from the metal contraption she had strapped him to for those agonising weeks – where she had tortured him, revelling in the pain and humiliation she inflicted on him physically, sexually, emotionally. All the time bringing back the hearts of the vampires she had slain – hearts of the young and mature alike – that she had relished in feeding to him.

He felt his temper surge, the need for control overwhelming him.

‘I’ve had enough of your twisted games,’ she added. ‘You doing everything your way when you want. Let’s finish this. Let’s finish it now. Bite me. Take me to the Brink.’

‘You think I won’t?’

‘I’m not afraid of facing this, Caleb. Are you?’

‘You think you can take me on? You haven’t seen a fraction of what I’m capable of.’

‘Is that supposed to deter me?’

‘Back down, Leila.’

She exhaled curtly. She dared to fold her arms, her eyebrows hitching up defiantly. ‘I’m not backing down from anything. Come on, Caleb. You brought me in here. See it through.’

‘Is this how you want it to end? In some rundown, backstreet house?’

‘What difference does it make? What difference does
any
of it make?’ She took another step closer to him, dropped her arms to her side. ‘Come on, Caleb. Do it.’

‘You don’t call the shots here.’

‘No? Then prove it.’

One iota of remorse in her eyes and he could have been tempted to change his mind from all the thoughts that had been running through his head, but not now.

‘Have you got so complacent that you don’t think I’m capable of hurting you?’

Her hazel eyes locked on his. ‘I don’t think it, I know it. You like playing the big, bad vampire because that’s what your reputation dictates, but when it comes down to it, you’re scared of facing me at the Brink.’

‘You’ll beg me to stop before we even get to that point,’ he remarked.

‘Don’t count on it.’

‘Five minutes before you’re pleading for my mercy.’

‘Five minutes before you realise you’re not up to the job.’

‘Your inexperience will be your downfall.’

‘Your arrogance will be yours.’

He grabbed her by her arm, yanked her to him. He felt it as soon as he held her. She wasn’t pretending not to be afraid – she genuinely wasn’t. That shortness of breath, that pulse racing was nothing to do with fear. Her outburst has been driven by more than anger. It had incited something else as well.

And, damn it, to her detriment, it was as intoxicating as it got, arousing every base urge in him.

‘One temptation too many,’ he whispered.

It was effortless dragging her over to the stairs.

She didn’t dare fight him, wouldn’t lose face by struggling. But as they reached the top of the stairs, he felt her involuntarily recoil as she saw the rusted metal bedstead, contraptions hanging from it, its worn and stained mattress.

But she wasn’t going to be that lucky.

He yanked her past the battered balustrade to the open door to the bathroom, across the mottled tiled floor.

He scanned the familiar blood- and graffiti-stained walls, torn clothes that lingered in small bundles. He’d only been there a couple of times, a couple of rendezvous, but enough to know it would meet the purpose.

As he pulled her across to the deep and broad cast-iron bath, she pulled away from him slightly.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ she demanded.

He reached across to the shower mixer, icy cold spray misting towards them. He lifted her with ease into the tub with him, directly under the spray, the ice-cold water startling her, causing her to gasp.

She tried to fight free, but despite the slippery base they stood in, the grip on his boots and his balance was enough to keep them upright despite her fervent struggles.

He’d only ever done it on three occasions – two by request, another, like with Leila, as punishment.

The two by request had had very different reactions. The one he had had to stop halfway through, her tears and sobs leaving her quaking beneath him. The other had been the most proficient masochist he had ever come across. For her it had been the ultimate high, the sex acts they performed during it only adding to her ecstasy.

‘Cold water constricts the blood vessels,’ he whispered as he dragged her hair back from her neck. ‘Slows down the heart rate. It stops you pumping so easily. Makes the feed that much more painful.’

He heard her snap back a breath.

‘You think you know me? You think you’ve got it all worked out? I’m going to do things to you, Leila. Really bad things. Until you beg me to stop. Because you will plead with me.’

He closed his eyes, thought of all the triggers that would increase his anger enough to hurt her – to do whatever it took to make her break. She would not be the one to beat him. She would not.

And he would
not
prove her right. He knew she was assuming he couldn’t hurt her. He knew she was counting on that inkling of humanity.

She believed he was the one who would back down.

But he’d show her. She’d beg him and he’d show her he had no mercy. He’d show her why he’d survived that long. He’d show her why fate had chosen him. Why it had shaped him to be the way he was. Because if he faltered now, what chance did his species stand? If he couldn’t even take his own sacrifice – his defiant, infuriating, belligerent little sacrifice – then he had no right to claim that position.

As he felt his fury build, his incisors extended in ready preparation.

He could do it for Seth, for his kind, against the Higher Order, against her kind; he
could
and
would
prove her wrong. He would not show weakness, and compassion was weakness.

And
she
was his weakness. He knew that much although he hated to admit it. And every time he got closer to her, she weakened him more.

But he would not allow it.

He’d done it all his life – made hard choices, detached himself. And he would embrace that darkness again. But this time it would not control him – he would control
it
and he would be all the more powerful because of that.

Fisting her hair at the nape of her neck, he extended his incisors and bit cruelly into her neck, Leila crying out as he plunged his sharpened incisors deep into her flesh.

He drank deep and hard, keeping her arms pinned around her. There was no steady draw, no giving her blood flow time to adjust; he was dragging it away from her heart, her whole body in protest, panicking for its survival as her heart worked against him, trying to cling on to what little control it had against him.

But he would take her to the Brink only when he was ready, not when she drove him to it.

He would show her control. The serryn had nothing on him.

And he would show her just what a cruel and brutal bastard he could be, the sweet taste of her warm blood, her body subjugated to him unleashing the darkness again.

If the defiant little witch wasn’t going to cave in before him, he’d punish her even more.

He withdrew his incisors.

He turned her towards the end of the tub, ready to push her onto her knees but she slammed her foot against the side of the bath instead.

And thrust back with all her remaining strength.