Eternal Hunger (19 page)

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that played about Sara’s skin like a lover’s kiss.

“Listen,” she said with a frustrated sigh, walking over to the window. He was so near she could scent the warm blood spice of his skin. How, she wasn’t exactly sure, but her mouth ached, watered . . . “I’m not going to be that girl.”

“What girl is that?” he interrupted casually, following her every movement with his dark cherry gaze.

“Going after some other woman’s man. Acting like a jealous asshole. That’s not my style.”

Again, his mouth twitched with humor. “What is your style, Sara?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know; for starters, maybe going after someone who’s unattached ...”

He nodded. “Very wise.”

“. . . someone with a good soul, a good heart.”

“Well,” he said, reaching for her hand, drawing her to him. “That won’t do, as I believe I have neither.”

A flush of heat moved up Sara’s neck, sent her pulse racing as he pulled her closer, crushing her against his hard chest. His touch was electric; every time, a shock of sweet electricity went straight to her nerve endings and all she wanted to do was yank off her robe and feel his hands on her skin. But she attempted to remain sane. “My point is,” she uttered, gazing up at him, at his striking, fearsome face, “the whole true-mate thing—it seems inborn and unbreakable, and deeply a part of your culture. And, well”—she lifted one yielding brow—“she’s lovely.”

Alexander cupped her chin and forced her eyes to his. “Listen to me, Sara, for this is truth. Bronwyn is not for me.”

Between her legs, a muscle long forgotten began to tremble, to clench. “She thinks she—”

“No.” His eyes were like two garnets, blazing with heat.

She shook her head. “It’s really none of my business.”

“Sara.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip and she felt his cock stir hard and thick against her belly. “Please”—his voice was low and pained—“before I press you back against this window and take the meal that
I
desire . . . sit now. Eat.”

His words, a delicious threat, made Sara’s heart pound, and for a moment she didn’t move. She was starving, yes, but not for the food on the table. She wanted to remain where she was, protected and safe, the hard muscled planes of his chest pressed against her breasts and the strange and delicious, spicy blood scent of him filling her nostrils.

And she wanted him to take from her, whatever it was that would satiate his hunger . . .

“Come,” he uttered, husky and slow as he broke their connection and led her over to the table, releasing her into a chair. He took the one opposite and began opening containers of food and piling her plate three inches thick as though she were a lumberjack who hadn’t eaten in days.

Sara watched him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers and give her some clue as to how he was feeling. Was it the same as she was? Nervous and vulnerable, yet desperate to know how his naked skin would feel against hers.

But though his jaw pulsed and clenched, he remained focused on the task of getting her fed. He poured some wine, then grabbed a pair of chopsticks and ripped off the paper with a little too much force. His thick knuckles were white as his hands gripped the wooden chopsticks just as they’d gripped her waist only moments before, and with one crack, a lone chopstick jumped from his grasp and went flying across the room, hitting the wall with a dull click.

“Fucking human utensils ...” Alexander muttered before pitching the other wooden stick after it.

Sara bit her lip, trying to hold back laughter. “Uh, Alexander?”

He cursed again, his eyes narrowed on the wall. “What?”

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just use a fork.”

His gaze lifted then and she saw the beginnings of mirth in his eyes. She couldn’t help herself, she laughed, and in moments the ire in his expression died and he joined her, chuckling low and easy.

Fork in hand, Sara dug into the mound of food. After the first bite, she nodded enthusiastically. “This is good, very good. Spicy.”

“You like heat on your tongue, do you?”

“It can be intense sometimes,” she returned playfully, “but yes, I do. What about you? Like your blood spicy?”

His gaze moved over her face, then dropped to her neck. “I think I would enjoy it very much.”

Sara’s body responded instantly, heat and pressure building between her thighs. She crossed her legs, but that only made the sensation worse. She wondered what the night would bring if she could barely contain her desire through dinner. She forced a bit of chicken down her dry throat, then said, “Bronwyn said that your kind doesn’t crave human blood.”

Alexander sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his splendid chest. “Our kind craves every kind of blood.”

Sara frowned. “Then why would she say ...”

“In the
credenti
, the Eternal Breed is expected to resist what is not pure.”

“And human blood is—”

“Unclean, impure, powerless.”

“Wow. I suddenly feel the need to shower.”

Alexander laughed, an enchanting rumble of thunder that moved seductively down her neck and back. She shivered.

“What about you?” she asked, watching his expression carefully. “Do you think human blood is . . . dirty?”

“No, but then again, I like all things dirty.”

She laughed softly. “Have you ever had human blood?”

“I left the
credenti
a hundred years ago. To survive, I took food wherever and whenever I could get it.”

“What about now?”

“I believe I am more discriminating now.”

“So does that mean you haven’t drunk blood from a human lately?”

He arched one dark eyebrow. “What’s lately?”

She rolled her eyes, said impatiently, “Alexander.”

Grinning, he nodded toward her plate. “So that kung pao’s pretty good, eh?”

She cocked her head, playing along. “Best I’ve ever had. Sure you don’t want a bite?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What surface I get to eat it off of.”

Cheeky bastard.
She eyed him. “Would you take blood from me? If I offered it?”

His eyes darkened, the brands on his cheeks too. “No.”

Her heart seized with his vehement tone. “Why not?”

He shook his head. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Because of my unclean blood?”

“No. Hell, no. I don’t believe in any of that horse-shit.”

“Then why? Are you afraid it would turn me?”

He gave no answer, but his gaze dropped to her neck.

Her meal completely forgotten, Sara pressed him for answers she wasn’t sure she desperately needed to have. “Would you be afraid to turn me into what you are?”

He shook his head. “Not possible.”

“But you said Tom was—”

He cut her off. “That’s different. He’s not a vampire. A human can never become a vampire. Vampires are born, not made. However, if a human drinks the blood of a vampire they can change into an
Imiti
.”

“What’s that?” Sara asked.

“Something that resembles a vampire—something that has lost all of its humanity—something corrupt. Not something to be loved.”

A slow, unsettling reality came over Sara in that moment. The desire, the need, the pull—it was all there between them, unstoppable and undeniable. And yet it meant nothing more than an acknowledged understanding. Desire, yes. Love and a future together, no. She put down her fork. “So this . . . you and me ...”

His gaze held hers. “Impossible.”

Her appetite died right there and her body went cold and numb. The impossibility of her and him was barely a shock and yet she felt bereft at hearing him concede to it. Angry as well. She’d let herself think there might be a way, a place for them to exist, to know each other better between two worlds. She pushed away from the table, stood and went over to the door.

Alexander watched her. “What are you doing?”

“Kicking you out.”

His eyes softened. “Sara ...”

She shook her head, hand on the doorknob. “No, there’s not going to be any of that. I heard what you said, and I know what you meant by it, so let’s just call it a day. I have enough impossibilities in my life right now. I don’t need another one.”

“Sara, come back to the table.”

“I won’t deny my attraction to you, Alexander. You know it. I know it. And sitting around here flirting and one-upping each other with witty sexual innuendo is fun and all, but it’s going to become real painful real soon.”

Sara never saw him move. It was like sensing wind before the gust hit, and in the space of a mere breath, he was standing before her, his eyes feral in their unquenched need. “It’s already pretty fucking painful.”

His arm went around her waist and he gathered her close, his head lowering, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was neither sweet nor soft. It was hard and urgent and hungry—just as he was, and Sara felt unable to resist him or her own curiosity, her own desperation to taste his mouth, his skin. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers gripping his hard, nearly shaved skull.

“You are mine,” he uttered, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, possessing her, lapping at her teeth, groaning as he found the wet heat inside. “An impossible future,” he uttered, pulling back just a breath. “But now—right now—I cannot deny what my unbeating heart desires.”

With his free hand, Alexander untied the knot of silk at her waist and dragged the robe from her shoulders and hips. “Hot skin,” he growled as the white silk landed in a pool around her feet. “Beautiful Sara.”

The cool air hitting her naked flesh warred with the hot touch of the vampire who held her so close. Yes, she could pretend as well as he could. She was his. For now she was his.

Alexander ground his erection against her belly and raked his fangs across her bottom lip. Yes, that was what she wanted.
Draw blood. Taste.

The muscles between her thighs quivered at the thought, of the image in her mind—her blood on his tongue—and she reached down, gripped the edges of his shirt, and yanked the fabric over his head. The black thermal flew to the bed just as Sara’s gaze landed on Alexander’s chest. Wide shoulders and thick biceps gave way to yards of lean skin over waves of muscle. Her hands, her touch, began at his throat and drifted lazily downward before sneaking between their bodies. A low, fearsome growl erupted from Alexander’s throat as Sara’s hand closed around the heavy cock in his pants.
Mine
, she thought, feeling the pulse of his shaft against her palm.
Mine
.
For now . . .

She squeezed him, and with her free hand fumbled with the zipper of his pants. Alexander sucked air between his teeth, pulled back, and stared down at her. “Careful now, woman.” His eyes blazed with lust and his fangs elongated before her eyes. “Release me or blood will be spilled.”

A warning.

He wanted to bite her.

Sara’s fist clenched tighter around his shaft, showing him how badly her cunt wanted to do the same.

“A dangerous game you play,” he hissed, his eyes turning black cherry. He gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed, sat her down on the achingly soft bedspread. He lowered to his knees before her, his even gaze roaming her naked flesh, the trimmed curls between her thighs that glistened with moisture, her flat stomach rising and falling with each heavy, desperate breath, and her sensitive, distended nipples that ached to be suckled.

His fangs quivered. “I have a need to torture myself, can’t breathe without torturing myself.”

Her cunt ached, clenched with a need to be touched, to be filled. “This is torture? Touching me? Kissing me?”

He leaned toward her, his large hands encircling her waist, his mouth closing in on her left breast. “Sweet, painful, exquisite torture.” He latched on to one ridged nipple and suckled deep.

Sara arched her back, giving herself to him as a mother to her child, feeling the tips of his fangs scrape enticingly against the dusky circle surrounding her nipple. Wetness dripped from her core to her thighs and her breathing turned ragged and strained as the early pulls of orgasm hummed within her.

Alexander left one breast for another and fed deeply, his tongue flicking over the aching bud until Sara was panting, her brow glistening with sweat. “Please ...” she moaned. “I need you . . . Please, Alexander.”

“You never have to beg, Sara.” Alexander grabbed her ass, pulled her to the edge of the mattress and whispered, “Open for me.”

Splaying her thighs, Sara glanced down, her gaze foggy, dreamlike. She saw Alexander’s head poised before the entrance to her body and she saw his cock, jutting out from the confines of his pants. She licked her lips, wondering what he tasted like, wondering if she would ever get the chance to find out.

“Open yourself wider,” he uttered, his hands gripping her inner thighs now. “I want to see all of you . . . yes, every pink, swollen inch.”

“What are you doing?” She knew. Yes, she knew—hell, her body knew. She just wanted to hear him say it.

Alexander traced one long finger down her center, making her hips jerk. “Feeding from you in the only way I can.”

As he said the words, clear fluid leaked from Sara’s cunt and she moaned. Alexander saw it too. He lowered his head and lapped at the sweet moisture, groaned as it traveled down his throat. “Oh, sweet love. So hot, so wet. Your taste . . . It will haunt my days, stretch my cock at night.”

“Alexander, please ...”

“Yes,” he whispered, penetrating her with two thick fingers, “ending your torment will be my greatest pleasure.” His dark head disappeared between her thighs, and he licked at her flesh, flicked his tongue over her clitoris, grazed her swollen lips with his fangs. Just as he’d suckled at her breasts, Alexander milked her clit, gently and rhythmically. He slipped a third finger inside her and went deep, curving his fingers to hit the sweet, hidden spot of pleasure.