Hunter's Salvation (22 page)

Slowly he let go, his hands sliding from her hair. He licked his lips and tasted her on them. “You stay safe,” he whispered. His voice was ragged and hoarse. His body, as though sensing the coming frustration, started to scream at him. He wanted to grab her, yank her against him, rip off her clothes, and push her to the floor. Wanted it so badly, he was shaking with it.

But instead of reaching for her, he turned away. “Get to sleep. We leave early.”

“Where are you going?”

Without looking at her, he said, “To bed.”

“Wait.”

He stopped in his tracks but didn't look at her. At least not right away. But a moment passed. Then another. Finally Vax turned around and looked at her. The second their eyes met, she reached for the zipper on her short black jacket. She tugged it down and slipped it off. As it slid down her arms, she glanced towards the bed. “There's a bed in here.”

Vax glanced at the bed in question. It was soft and feminine, and he suspected that she didn't like it at all. It was a pity, because it suited her a lot more than she suspected. He could imagine that long, pale body on that big bed, her hair loose around her shoulders, her arms reaching for him. “Yes. There's a bed. But the only way I'd want to get in that bed would be if I was getting inside you as well.”

Jess grinned. She reached for the hem of her closefitting tank and pulled it off. “Excellent—because that's the way I'd prefer it, too.”

But he barely heard a word she said. Under that tank top, she was naked. She had small, high breasts. Her nipples were a deep shade of pink, and as he stared at her, they puckered and tightened. Vax realized his mouth was watering. He closed the distance between them with two quick strides. He stopped in front of her and stooped just a little as he slid an arm around her waist. When he straightened, her feet left the floor.

“Thought you didn't do casual.” He stared into her face as he spoke, even though he wanted to glance down, wanted to see how her soft, pale flesh looked pressed up against his. He didn't, though. At least not yet. One chance to make sure she knew what she was doing.

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Vax, ‘casual' is one word that doesn't describe you. At all.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his jaw. “So where are you going to sleep? My bed? Or yours?”

“Neither.” He caught a fistful of her hair in his hand and slowly wound it around his wrist. “We won't be doing much sleeping.”

“I hope not.” Her wide grin vanished quickly, her lips opening with a startled gasp as Vax pivoted and took two steps. He pressed her up against the wall. Then he reached down, grabbing one leg and pulling it up over his hip, opening her. Vax pressed against her, feeling the heat of her through the layers of clothing. He could smell her—sweet, hot, and female. The scent of her went straight to his head—and his cock. That scent was intoxicating. He could smell the soap and the shampoo she'd used, but under that was the subtle scent of woman.

He lowered his head. But instead of kissing her mouth, he ran his lips over her neck. Her breath hitched. When he reached the point where neck joined shoulder, he opened his mouth and bit down lightly. He let go of her waist, easing her to the floor. He slid his hands over her slim waist and up her rib cage, and cupped her breasts in his hands. They were small, soft, and delicate. He plumped one in his palm and pushed it high. Hunkering down, he caught one tight, beaded nipple between his teeth and sucked gently.

Then he pulled back a little, circling the crest with his tongue.

“Vax…”

Vax lifted his head, staring at her from under his lashes. Holding her gaze, he straightened and slid his hands inside the waistband of her pants. The snug black cotton clung to her slender curves, and he sank to his knees in front of her as he peeled them away.

Under the pants, she had on a pair of low-cut panties. Simple black cotton—black seemed to be the main color in her wardrobe. They dipped low over her hip bones, the cloth running between her thighs. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pulled them away, leaving her naked.

Lifting his gaze, he stared up at her. Then he pressed his mouth to her. She bucked against his mouth, and he closed his hands over her hips, holding her still.

He teased her, circling his tongue over her clit, caressing lightly over it, then retreating. She groaned, squirming against his grip as she tried to move closer. He muttered, “Be still.”

She slammed her head back against the wall, a strangled groan falling from her lips. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

“I don't know. Maybe. Am I?” Then he pushed his tongue inside her.

The caress shattered her. He stroked in and out, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, and Jess was convinced that she was going to fly into a thousand pieces. Her knees buckled, her legs giving way under her. The only thing keeping her upright was the tight clasp of his hands around her hips. Jess braced her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers tangled in his raven black hair.

“Am I?” he repeated, lifting his mouth just a little. The hot caress of his breath was just one more teasing stroke, one more small push closer.

His words didn't make sense to her. She lifted her lashes and tried to focus on his face, but she couldn't focus on anything. Lights seemed too bright. The world felt like it was spinning around her, and nothing felt solid, nothing felt real. Nothing but the hard ridge of his shoulders under her palms and the heat of his hands clasping her hips. He asked again, but all she could do was shake her head and say, “What?”

He laughed and then pressed his mouth against her again. He licked her clit, teasing it with his tongue and then sucking on her. One hand left her hip. When he touched her between her thighs, she cried out. She rocked against him eagerly, but he didn't enter her. Instead he traced her folds with his fingertip with light little touches. Jess groaned his name and tried to move closer. He didn't let her. He just kept up those feathery caresses.

Each stroke of his tongue lashed through her like some fiery whip. He had her so swollen, so sensitive, so close to the edge, those gentle touches became a kind of erotic torture. She was caught on the edge, unable to go over but unable to ground herself, either.

Then he pushed a finger inside her.

At that, Jess exploded, slamming her head back into the wall and screaming his name. She bucked against him, her entire body arching. There was no end to it—just when she thought she might be able to breathe again, he moved, rising to his feet, one arm wrapped around her waist. Her feet left the floor and she lifted her knees, squeezing them around his hips.

His cock was trapped between their bodies. She had one fleeting second to feel him, hard and throbbing, and then he moved, easing back just a little. With his free hand, he guided his length between her thighs and held steady as he pressed against her. He was hot as fire, and as he filled her, she thought she was going to burn to death in the heat of him.

She wrapped her arms around his torso, sliding her hands up his sides. There were odd little ridges in the smooth skin, but she barely acknowledged them. She was aware of the muscles, the power, and the feel of his body rubbing against hers. The thick black silk of his hair fell around them both. Vax stared down at her as he pumped against her, and the eerie dark gray of his eyes shifted and swirled, going from deep, stormy gray to light silver.

He bussed her mouth with his, then skimmed his lips down, over her chin, along her jawline, down her neck. When his lips closed over her nipple, Jess cried out. That heat, consuming, erotic, and terrifying all at once. He tongued the rosy crest, pressed it up against the roof of his mouth, then suckled her.

Vax slid a hand down, smoothing it along the outside of her thigh, then back up, catching her behind her knee. On the other side, he mirrored the move, pushing her thighs open. Then he leaned into her. When he rotated his hips against hers, she felt every swollen, pulsating inch of his flesh. As he withdrew, she clenched around him in an effort to keep him from pulling away. She lifted her hips, trying to follow him, and he laughed. “Slow down. Are you always in such a hurry?”

Normally? Yeah. But even if she weren't, this was definitely something she would want to hurry. Not because she wanted it over, but because of what she could feel looming ahead of her. She could feel the thick shaft pulsing inside her, felt each subtle nuance of him as he slowly pulled out and pumped back in. She could feel his hands, hard and calloused. She could hear the unsteady rhythm of his breathing. She could feel the heat of him, spreading over her entire body like a blanket.

Jess had had lovers. Several of them.

But she didn't think she'd ever been this aware of anybody before.

He reached between their bodies, and she whimpered as he brushed against her clit. He did it again and again. Jess closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting for that next light contact. It would send her screaming over the edge—she knew it. She could all but feel the bliss that awaited her.

But that light touch never came. She opened her eyes to glare at him, only to find him smirking at her. “Such a damned hurry,” he teased. Vax straightened, holding her against him as he moved to the bed. Without letting go, he lay her down and bent over her. Vax nuzzled her neck, bit her delicately on the ear. And all the while, he moved inside her, slow, teasingly shallow strokes that made her even hungrier.

“Vax…” Oh, hell. Was that whimpery, breathy moan actually
her
?

“Jess…” His voice was a low, silken caress.

Digging her nails into his shoulders, she started circling her hips against his. Just a little more and she'd be there—

He didn't give her the chance, though. Vax dropped his weight completely onto her, his big frame crushing her into the bed. “You don't understand slow.” He licked her neck and then bit her gently. “Okay. We won't do slow this time.” He tensed over her and then slammed into her. Hot, sweet pleasure exploded through her, her nerve endings sizzling with each hard, deep stroke.

Her mind shut down and pure sensation took over. When he caught her wrists and pinned them by her head, she let him. His cock jerked inside her and Jess screamed into his mouth. He swallowed it and kissed her harder. Using teeth and tongue, he kissed his way down her chin, over her neck. He nibbled on the fleshy part of one breast, just above the nipple, taking her to the edge of pleasure. Pain threatened, and she pressed herself harder against him.

The orgasm hit, starting low in her belly and spreading through her body with seismic intensity, each pulsating wave of pleasure lasting longer and longer. Jess keened his name. Her hands closed into fists, nails biting into her flesh.

She was blissfully, exhaustingly sated when he started to come, filling her with hot, pulsing jets. She started to drift off into darkness as he collapsed against her and let go of her wrists. Just before exhaustion took hold, she looped her arms around his shoulders.

Jess fell asleep smiling.

Less than an hour later, she woke up to feel his hands on her body. As he pulled her on top of him, he muttered, “Told you we wouldn't be sleeping much.”

He was right.

V
AX
almost always slept alone.

On the rare occurrences when he stayed all night with a woman, he woke before she did and left in silence. Not the nicest way to treat a lover, but too much time spent that close to a person tended to weigh too heavily on him, stretching his control to the breaking point.

Even somebody who didn't broadcast her emotions to the whole world was too much a strain. Close contact strengthened an Empathic connection, and you didn't get much closer than naked skin against naked skin.

But waking next to Jess was amazing.

Although he knew she was in turmoil, knew she was filled to the breaking point with pain, grief, and guilt, it was all contained. None of it leaked through her shields. He lay in the bed, sprawled facedown, and she was pressed against his side, one arm around his hips. Her lips were close to his shoulder blades. He could feel the soft, gentle rhythm of her breathing and her heartbeat.

It was—soothing. He couldn't think of a better word to describe it.

He'd had lovers before who were gifted, who knew how to shield, but they had been fellow Hunters. There was a decided lack of
restful
attributes among the Hunters. Even the Healers had to be warriors.

Sex had always been just that, a need to satisfy, a basic urge for satisfaction and on occasion for companionship. Hunters who didn't die young often faced long, lonely stretches of years, and they learned to take what pleasure they could where they could and not seek out more.

Long, peaceful moments of silence after making love to a woman were not something that had been placed before Vax often. Odd that he should find it here, with this woman. She was most definitely warrior material. She had so much fight inside her, so much anger. So much guilt.

He couldn't feel any of it, but he could see it in her eyes.

“You always think this hard when you wake up?”

Her voice was drowsy, and he lifted his head from the pillow so that he could look at her. Her eyes were still closed, but as he looked at her, her lashes lifted. She smiled sleepily at him before closing her eyes again. “Too early for you to be thinking so much.”

“It's past eight.” He didn't have to look at the clock to know what time it was. He had wanted to be gone by now, but they hadn't gone to sleep until after two. He wasn't going to complain, though. Even tired and worn-out as he was.

She just grunted. “Until I've had three or four cups of coffee, it's always early.”

Vax laughed. He wouldn't mind a caffeine jolt himself. And some breakfast. His belly rumbled, and he amended that silent thought—a
big
breakfast.

She opened her eyes again, glaring at him. “You're still thinking.”

Grinning, he lifted a brow at her. “What am I supposed to be doing?”

She blinked. “Go back to sleep?” She sounded hopeful.

“Can't.” Six hours of sleep was a lot for him, and he wouldn't get any more for a while. And they did need to get going. But he couldn't work up the interest to move. She shifted beside him, and he felt the gentle press of her breasts against his side. His cock stirred, and he decided he
did
have an interest in moving, so long as the movement ended with him on top of her, inside her. Just as he was getting ready to flip over and cover her, though, she pushed herself onto her side. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see where she was looking.

At the intricate tattoos on his back. She reached out, brushing the tip of her finger along one of them. “You got a thing for feathers?” she asked softly.

He grunted.

Jess slid him a sideways glance. “Is that grunt a way of not answering my question?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on to trace another one. He didn't have to see his back to know which one. It was the black one, the one that looked as if a raging lunatic had carved it into his flesh.

That wasn't too far off. After Cora had died, he had parted ways with sanity. He'd sat in the ashes of Cora's funeral pyre and used his magick to carve the design into his flesh. Magick and rage didn't make for steady control, and the tattoo was wicked long and ugly as hell.

As she traced her finger over one feather, Vax felt the muscles in his back twitch. “Do these stand for anything?”

He was silent. He didn't want to answer that question. But he couldn't keep quiet, either. Finally he said, “You know much about Native culture?”

“No.” As she answered, she traced the outline of another feather. As her fingers brushed over his side, he twitched a little. “You're ticklish.”

“Am not.” But he shifted away from her hand, rolling onto his back. “Nobody knows who my parents were. It's a possibility that one of my parents was Lakota. I was found in Kansas City at a church when I was a baby. Probably just a couple of weeks old. They turned me over to the orphanage.” Closing his eyes, he remembered. None of his memories from his childhood were clear—he'd long since forgotten most of it. It was probably a good thing. The bits and pieces he did remember were blurs of hunger, pain, and cold.

“I lived in the orphanage for a while. I ran away a lot. People would bring me back. I don't know how old I was when I finally managed to get away for good. Lived on the streets. Picked pockets, gambled. Wasn't very good at the gambling. That started changing when I was a little older, eighteen…maybe nineteen. I started winning. I knew who had the good hands, who didn't.”

“Empathy?” Jess asked.

“Yeah. Came into my gifts late. The Empathy came first. Wasn't too long before saloons started kicking me out. They were convinced I was somehow cheating.”

Her hand had stilled on his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the perplexed look on her face. “Saloon.” She said it slowly, as though she was unfamiliar with the word.

He gave her a crooked grin. “Yeah, saloon. You know, dancing girls, whiskey, poker.” His smile faded and he reached up, skimming his fingers over the ends of her hair. “I don't know how old I am, Jess. I was grown when the Hunters found me, talked me into joining them. That was in 1850.”

Her jaw dropped. She blinked, opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, but never said anything. Her eyes had a vague, startled look to them. When she finally spoke, her voice was weak and thready. “1850?”

“Yes.” He looked down and stared at the hand she had rested on his chest. He covered it with his as he sat up. “Then I only had a couple of feathers.” With his free hand, he reached over his left shoulder. He could just barely touch the tip of that first feather. He couldn't see it, but he didn't have to. “As my Empathy grew stronger, I thought I was going crazy. One night, a woman was raped in the saloon where I was gambling—she was one of the whores, a young girl, just trying to feed her son. Some bastard raped her, practically tore her apart. I didn't know what was going on—all I could feel was her pain. I could taste her blood. I ran out of the saloon, trying to get away from it. Hid in an alley. God, I thought I was losing my mind. Then he came walking out of the saloon. He had her blood on his hands, and he was smiling.”

Vax let go of Jess's hand and lifted his own, staring at them. “I killed him. When he walked by the place where I was hiding, I snapped. I grabbed him by the throat, hauled him into that alley, and killed him. I strangled him and I watched his face while he died. Then I ran.”

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Vax took a deep breath. “I don't know what happened after that. I didn't ever want to see another person again. I think part of me hoped I'd die in the desert.”

 

W
HEN
he opened his eyes, he thought maybe he was dead.

He'd spent enough time out in the desert with nothing to eat, nothing to drink. Had he finally died of thirst?

“No. You are not dead.”

The words were stilted, spoken with a halting sort of cadence that Vax was familiar with. He turned his head and wasn't surprised to see an old Indian man sitting by the fire. Smoke spiraled upward, drifting through the small aperture in the top of the teepee.

As Vax watched, the Indian reached down beside him and lifted a gourd. “Here. You drink.”

Vax didn't take it. “Where am I?”

Instead of answering, the Indian said something that Vax couldn't understand. But the words were lyrical, and deep inside, Vax felt something throb in response. The Indian repeated it and stared at Vax, as though waiting for some kind of answer. Then he shook his head, looking a little disgusted. “You talk like a white man. Dress like a white man. You do not even know our tongue.”

“I am not—”

But he couldn't say it. Vax was Indian. Or at least half Indian. A half-breed didn't have a place in either world. But at least when he lived among white people, he understood what they were saying.

“I can teach this to you.”

Vax's heart skipped a beat. Then it started beating twice as fast. “Teach me what?”

“Our ways. Our words. Your ways. You may have white-man ways and white-man eyes, but you are
not
white man. You are Lakota. I feel this in you. You feel it, too.” The old Indian pushed the water towards Vax once more. “You drink. You need your strength.”

No. All he needed was a gun and a bullet. Or a knife. The bullet would be quicker, and he sort of liked the idea of blowing his brains out. That would sure as hell put an end to the weird images he kept getting. Feeling pain for no reason. Anger. Hurt. Fear.

“A bullet is not the answer.”

 

“H
E
was reading your mind?” Jess asked as Vax fell silent. A psychic shaman. A lover who was almost two hundred years old. A vampire that was playing Dr. Frankenstein. This was all too bizarre for words.

“Two Stars was a thought senser more than a mind reader. He could pick up weird little bits here and there. It wasn't a powerful ability. But yeah.”

“Thought sensing.” Jess sighed. She put her head down, resting it on his chest. She could hear the slow, steady cadence of his heart under her ear. “And a shaman.”

“More than that,” Vax murmured. His voice sounded achingly sad. “He's the one who taught me how to control my gift enough to keep it from driving me crazy.”

“Was he a witch?” Jess murmured. She wished she hadn't ever asked him anything. Somehow the tatts on his back were related to this shaman. However that was, it was something that made Vax sad. There was no taking back the question now, though.

“No. Not a witch. He was a shaman. He didn't truly understand a witch's magick. But he didn't need to understand the magick to help me learn to control my Empathy. Empathy makes a person able to experience the emotions of others. Shaman magick was similar, but shamans didn't feel the emotions of random people. They were connected to their lands, to their tribes.”

“I didn't realize there was such a thing as shamanic magick. I thought shamans were more or less just medicine men, or wise men.” She frowned up at him, but he wasn't looking at her. His gaze was on the ceiling over their heads, but she didn't think he was seeing anything but the past. “So were all shamans magick?”

“Are,” Vax corrected, his tone almost absent. “There are still shamans. They're usually stuck on reservations damned far from the home of their peoples, but it doesn't make them any less. All shamans had to be wise men. There's no job description for being a shaman. They had to have the knowledge of the past, of their people. They had to have the ability to do their duties. But they didn't have to have the magick. The magick that connected them to the earth is rare.

“Two Stars was a powerful shaman. He was connected to the earth in ways that still amaze me, after all this time.”

“You loved him.”

A sad smile curved Vax's lips. “He was the closest thing to a father I've ever known. He didn't just save me from dying in the desert—he saved me from going insane. Yeah, I loved him. He was a good man.” His next words came after a long pause. “He shouldn't have died like that.”

Jess was almost afraid to ask. She wasn't much into history. Most of what she knew about Native Americans had come from school. Custer's Last Stand, Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull, and Wounded Knee—a lot of the stories had been whitewashed, she knew. Entire tribes had been wiped out by the invading armies. But as much as she didn't want to know, she asked anyway. “Died how? Who killed him?”

Rolling his head on the pillow, Vax stared at her. “Not a who. A what. There was a white family that had settled a few miles outside our hunting grounds. Nice people. The man and his wife respected Two Stars and the tribe. They traded with us. I remember their children came to the village once and played with our children. Then they got sick. The man came to Two Stars, begged for his help. Two Stars went. His kindness killed him—and half of our tribe. Chicken pox.”