In the Dead of Cold (11 page)

Milo wondered for a brief moment if he no longer had to worry about Bart, if he—Milo—had already killed her. After all, she lay so still beneath him. Perhaps this had been the vision Jane saw, and Milo had brought it to pass.

In her blood, he’d tasted energy, urgent need, delicious sweetness, and life, their life together. Its flavor was beyond anything he’d ever tasted. Having his dick inside her surpassed a mere fuck, great sex, and the beautiful act of making love. It was far ahead of any experience Milo had ever known.

Their souls had touched, had danced, had shot to the stars and back.

In tasting her, he’d recognized that she was his intended, his destiny, his soul mate, his wife reincarnated. She was the other half of his spirit. Her heart beat with his.

It was why he’d dreamed of her. She was the other half of his whole.

And it had been her kiss, the simple touch of her lips to his neck, something like the touch of butterfly wings, that had stopped him from drinking her dry. Bart was, indeed, right. Milo was cursed. If she’d kissed him as she had in so many of the dreams they’d shared, he’d be holding her lifeless body right now. He should get away from her—at the very least, put a few feet of space between the heat of her flesh and his. But he couldn’t move.

He listened to the steady beat of her heart in unison with his. Why hadn’t he noticed the significance of that before now? Because he’d been plagued with too many other questions. He remembered the way Mr. M. had watched him with eyes filled with years of knowledge. Mr. M. must have known or at least suspected the hold Jane had on him, who she was to him. But Milo had had to learn it on his own.

He should never have done this. He should get away from her now. He was, after all, as dangerous to her as Bart. He should have given her to Mr. M. and let Mr. M. take control back from Bart. Or James. James could have done it too. But Milo should never have tasted her, never felt her, never emptied himself into her.

And he was lying to himself. He could never have let James or anyone else touch her. She belonged to him. Only him. And he would die to make certain it remained that way.

At least she wasn’t dead in his arms. He hadn’t killed her, just exhausted her.

She slept. And with good reason, after all the energy she’d expended, fighting Bart, moving beneath Milo, achieving climax after climax, not to mention her loss of blood. Tack all that on to what she’d experienced hours before behind the bookstore, and she probably needed a hospital.

Hell, what was he thinking?

I’ve saved her life. I’ve saved her from Bart.

It was no excuse. He had taken from her just as Bart had planned.

I’ve kept her from being Bart’s slave.
Did that make him any better?

Not in his eyes.

She was his mate.

Like wolves, vampires recognized mates with a kiss or a taste. Milo had never forced himself on a woman in his life. And now Jane belonged to him—with him—in a tighter bond than he’d ever known.

His mate. The other half of his heart.

Hell.

There was no walking away from her.

He could have killed her.

What if next time, she didn’t grab his attention with a kiss?

There could be no next time.

His heart, his cock, his entire body cried out for a
next time
right now.

He breathed in her scent—earthy, flowery vanilla mixed with his soap. It was now a part of him, integrated into his mind. He would know her anywhere, be able to recognize her in a crowd of millions.

“Was that a dream?”

He was glad not only that she was awake, but that her voice didn’t sound like Bart. “No,” he forced out.

She looked around with wide eyes.

“What?”

“He’s here.”

“No, he’s gone. And he wasn’t physically here. He made you think he was.”

She held his gaze. “You make that sound so simple.”

He liked the clear blue of her eyes and chuckled bitterly. “There was nothing simple about any of this.” In fact, he felt bruised all over. He bet she did too. Bart had raped her mind, and Milo was forced to take her blood and her body to counteract Bart’s control. He’d had no choice, but that didn’t make it right. “Are you all right?”

She took note of her body, the room, her surroundings. “You’re inside me.”

Yes, he was. Still. It wasn’t a question. And much to his relief, her words weren’t spoken with contempt or fear. “Yes.” And he had no desire at all to leave her. At least she hadn’t ordered him off her yet.

“And this feels better than a dream.”

Before he could agree, she went on.

“Gosh, you didn’t serve wine or bring me flowers. We didn’t light any candles either.”

He grinned. So far, she didn’t hate him. When her thoughts cleared and she recognized him for what and who he was, she might. It didn’t matter that she’d pleaded for him to do whatever was necessary to get Bart out of her head. When she understood he’d drunk her blood, she might fear him.

“Next time,” he lied. He wanted a next time more than he wanted another lungful of oxygen. And yet, he couldn’t let there be a next time. “What do you remember?”

She moved her hands down his shoulders, as if she studied the texture of him. Her heat moved right through him and swirled in the pit of his stomach, growing hotter and hotter, sending sparks of renewal all the way to the head of his cock.

“Being in the shower with you. Then we were out in the snow, weren’t we? Or was that part of the dream like when we were up on the mountain. My blouse is wet.”

“It was no dream, but we weren’t out there long. And we should get out of our wet clothes.” He leaned on his elbows to keep his weight off her. He fingered her hair. It was a nice, easy touch that allowed him to keep his control. Neither of them moved.

“I remember you kissing me. It was wonderful, like our dreams, only better. I didn’t want you to stop. It warmed me, made me feel free and wonderful.”

He shouldn’t kiss her. In fact, he should move and put as much safe distance between himself and her as he could, maybe even a locked door. He should let her get out of her wet clothes and into a warm shower before she caught a chill. He met her gaze. When he didn’t move, she leaned up and brought her lips to his. Her kiss was heaven, long and deep.

When he looked into her eyes again, she asked, “Why are you afraid of me? I feel your fear.”

The fact that she could read him in her touch, that she could know his thoughts, scared him more than anything. “I’m afraid for you,” he lied. “You’re free of Bart’s control, but I’m sure he still wants you.” Bart would still want her because she belonged to Milo. And for the fact that she had slipped from his grasp and was under Milo’s control. “I should move away from you.”

She wrapped her leg around him and seductively ran her foot up and down the back of his calf. “Sounds impossible. Besides, this feels so good. Are you going to make love to me or not?”

Milo forced out a laugh. He shouldn’t do this. Bart had cursed him long ago, making it so that everything Milo loved would die. And Bart wouldn’t hesitate to kill this woman—for the simple reason that Milo had made love to her.

Yet, at the same time, Milo could never deny any wish his mate asked. He just had to keep his mouth off her throat.

He moved away long enough to peel off her clothes, then his own so he could warm her skin to skin. She was so hot and wet, but he was determined to move slowly and savor every action. She matched his rhythm and stared into his eyes as she laced her fingers through his and met his movements thrust for thrust. Her nipples brushed his chest. It was a subtle touch, barely there, like her breath on his skin. It heated him almost as much as her warm tightness. He really meant to make it last all night and give new meaning to the word
ride
, but he couldn’t stop the urgent flame her touch fueled within him. They rode the waves together. When she cried out with her lips pressed against his throat and tightened around him, he could hold back no longer. To keep from losing control and drinking from her, he kissed and drew sustenance from her lips the entire time.

* * * *

Milo opened his door to find Graham standing in the hall.

He wasn’t surprised. It had been Graham who’d seen Bart’s evil firsthand, before Graham saved Milo at the beginning of the previous century. Graham understood how high the stakes were and what it meant to have a soul mate.

Graham entered the suite and nodded a greeting to Jane, who had agreed she could wait until morning for her suitcase and was now dressed in Milo’s sweats and wrapped in a blanket on the sofa. She nursed a cup of steaming blackberry-flavored tea. Milo poured Graham a glass of wine and set it on the coffee table as Graham sat down on the opposite sofa.

Milo sat down next to Jane and used a remote to light the fireplace.

“How are you feeling?” Graham asked Jane.

“Okay. I’m just cold.”

Milo recognized her lie. She had to hurt all over. Between her scrapes and her bruises and Milo fucking her clear into next week—not once but twice—Milo was surprised she’d been able to walk to the sofa.

Graham nodded again. “I see.”

At least he was kind enough to not correct her lie. Milo had always respected him, now more than ever. He licked his lips, still tasting Jane. Her cheeks were rosy from making love. Unable to keep from touching her, he reached out and placed his hands on her leg. Through the fleece of his sweatpants, he felt her heat. “Do we know anything new?”

“We know that Bart didn’t stick around. He rented a cabin farther down the mountain on Valley Oak Road, but he’s gone now, headed west, we deduce, by his scent. I’ve got a team at the cabin, searching for clues and hunting him. Zack found another couple of cabins rented and unoccupied, and we’re checking them out as well.” Graham looked at Jane. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

Milo was almost afraid to ask his next question. “What about Steve Abel, the sentinel for that area of the perimeter where Bart hid?”

“We found him a short distance away. We’re not quite sure what Bart did to him. Steve was lying in the snow, eyes open, but nonresponsive. Stan Parker is with him. He’s the best when it comes to psychological manipulation. If anyone can figure it out, he can.”

Milo took Jane’s hand. He didn’t like how cold she felt. “Will you please excuse us a moment, Mr. M.?”

Milo urged her off the sofa and led her toward the bedroom.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“I see you’re shivering, despite the hot drink and the blanket and the fire. It’s time to warm you up. I’m putting you in the hot tub.”

“The hot tub’s outside,” she argued.

“The water in it is a hundred and four degrees.” He slid open the sliding glass door that led from his bedroom to the deck and stepped out.

Jane shivered. He saw her pull the blanket tighter around herself.

“I don’t have a suit.”

“You don’t need a suit. It’s four in the morning. Everyone’s asleep. And even if they weren’t, they’d need a damned good telescope to see anything worth the effort.” He flipped the cover off the large hot tub, and steam rose. “Here, wear this on your head.” He handed her a hat before he turned back to the large tub and tested the temperature with his hand. “That should be perfect. Here’s the button that controls the jets. You can turn it on once you step in. Let me hold your blanket while you take off your clothes.”

“You’re always trying to get me out of my clothes, aren’t you?”

“Whatever it takes. Do you need some help?” He shouldn’t be anywhere near her when she was naked. But oh, he wanted to be.

“I think I can manage, thank you. Besides, you left Mr. Masterson sitting in the living room.” She looked at the steaming tub and moved one hand through the water.

Milo watched her. He should have thought of this sooner. This was what she needed. Some time alone to warm up and think. But damn, helping her undress did sound appealing. And the idea of being farther than a foot away from her tore at his heart.

He hesitated to leave. “I’ll be right out there if you need me. I’ll leave the door open so I can hear you.” Not that he couldn’t hear her with it closed, but he didn’t think she’d like the idea that his hearing was keener than a dog. He stepped back inside. With her familiar scent lingering and her heartbeat echoing through his ears, he took the opportunity with Jane out of the room to tell Graham about the flash Jane had seen of Bart coming after a child.

“Bart may be a monster, but he’s never been known to go after children before.”

“I know. It doesn’t make any sense. Jane didn’t see enough of the vision when he touched her hand.”

Graham took a drink of his wine.

Milo didn’t need to read his mind to know his thoughts. A child? The idea probably burned in Graham’s belly as it did in Milo’s. Why would Bart come here, to the valley of his greatest enemies, for a child?

Milo went on to tell Graham the rest of Jane’s vision.

A few minutes later, Graham agreed with him that the vision couldn’t be true.

“Ella is my soul mate. We share a heart. The vision doesn’t sound possible—with my head on the table and Ella sitting tied up and crying?” He shook his head. “Bart may be strong, but I doubt he’s stronger than the two of us together.”

Milo stood where he could look out on the balcony through the dark bedroom. He watched Jane. She sat unmoving in the steaming water, only her head visible. Her back was to him as she faced the mountains and the swirling snow. “None of the dreams I share with Jane have ever been lies. The vision may not be possible, but it’s what she saw in Bart. He obviously doesn’t understand the connection you and Mrs. M. have or how strong the two of you are together.”

Graham was lost in thought for a long moment. “No, he wouldn’t.” He looked up at Milo. Then he stood and finished his wine.

Milo glanced out at Jane again before meeting Graham’s gaze. His insides shook with the need to be closer to her. His chest tightened. “Either way, I think you’re in danger.”

“We may all be in danger.” Then he looked straight at Milo. “There’s more you’re not telling me.”