To Love (Vampire Assassin League Book 21) (4 page)

If viewing him felt exciting-strange, clinging to his side for the jump into space had to be one of the most amazing sensations of her life. Marla kept a scream from sounding but didn’t know how. It was stuck in her throat or something. That was a trick of fate. She was plummeting to her death and couldn’t even make a sound? And then it occurred to her. They weren’t falling? She’d been on the second floor, maybe the third. And yet somehow, in a complete defiance of physics, this guy went
up
.

Marla watched the rooftop of the police station get smaller and smaller before dark and clouds obscured it. She should ask where he was taking her.
No
. She should ask how he was taking her anywhere. That was the first question she wanted answered.
No.
She needed to cancel her Virgo instincts here. She’d just done the unimaginable. She’d been unbelievably impulsive. There was no turning back. Whatever happened. And wherever it took her.

Then again. Marla
...

There had to be some reason why it felt like they were flying. Honestly. It was beyond comprehension – and she worked with all kinds of improbable scenarios in her chosen field. She accepted things on faith on a daily basis; believed the inconceivable when everyone else demurred; always looked for alternatives.

But this?

This was beyond her.

No
.
Marla. Stop. You need to find your center
. Calm down. Work this through.
Stop scaring yourself
.

Actually...it wasn’t a frightening experience, although the sensations running through her body were the same she felt with fear. Shivers rippled through her in waves. Her breath came in quick gasps alternating with breathlessness. Her heart was pounding through her chest cavity, Heavy. Hard. Fast.

Wait a moment.

Was that his heartbeat? Matching hers? Exactly?

Oh.
Wow
. This was a huge rush of adrenaline-fueled intensity. She’d never felt so alive. Alert. Thrilled. She kept blinking, both to counteract the onslaught of rain and the drying effects of wind speed. She wasn’t missing a second of this.

They were really
flying!

He seemed to have a propulsion system of some kind. It worked at his unspoken command. Maybe he had an accomplice. That could be it. He might be attached to a soundless helicopter that was winging them far from the Wiltshire Police Station. She glanced upward, checking the night sky. Nope. Nothing there. Maybe there was another reason. He could be attached to a glider. But that wasn’t likely. Gliders didn’t go up. Maybe he had a rocket belt on him somewhere. No. That wasn’t possible. She had proof. Her arms wrapped about his belly. She didn’t feel anything but bare skin. And more skin.

Wow. He was warm. Everywhere she touched felt warm. Firm. Incredibly thrilling...

Oh. Shit.

She was losing her mind. She couldn’t even keep a train of thought? She was acting like she’d never held onto a man before. And that didn’t seem at all farfetched. This guy was cancelling out every experience and imprinting new ones. There had to be some reason she felt this hyped-up. Excited. Stimulated. Perhaps her trouble was his star sign. He could be the sexiest astrological sign – Scorpio. He might even be a Sagittarius. Or even born on the eve of the cusp: midnight of November 21st. That would explain not only the sex appeal he oozed without a hint of effort, but her reaction to it. Scorpios were known for sending off sexual vibes. While those born with Sagittarius influence were supposedly the best lovers...if you could keep them interested. She’d never met a male with that particular combination. But if she had, she’d have run the other direction.

At least...the sane Marla Sanders would.

There might have been something to her horoscope last night after all. This was her destiny? Being with this man? Right now? It was possible. He had been there. He’d just shown up, out of nowhere.
Yeah, Marla...but don’t forget.
He’d disappeared right afterward. He hadn’t even thanked her for taking that gruesome weapon from his back.
Wait a second here
. Why wasn’t he injured? He’d had that wooden Roman gladius thing stabbed all the way into him. He should be in a hospital somewhere. He had to have suffered blood loss. Trauma. Something.

Why didn’t he seem remotely weak?

It was such a conundrum. Marla shook her head. He reacted, pulling her even more securely against that mass of chest, abdomen, hips, and...oh.
Wow
. There was that word again. She couldn’t help it. Her brain wasn’t cooperating, her senses were in racetrack mode, and her hormones were doing the driving. She had one of this thighs clamped between both of hers. And her skirt wasn’t doing enough to fend off how that felt. She didn’t imagine the warmth flooding through her. Good heavens. Her breasts even joined the assault. She could swear they tingled where she was smashed against his side. He was just so swoon-worthy. In spades.

No.

He was beyond that.

She didn’t even know a description for him, or the sensations her body was experiencing because of him. All she knew was they were fantastic. Unbelievable. Real. And really scary, in a thrilling, exciting kind of way.

“Ah. My
anam-charaid.
”

His voice touched an ear while the sound rumbled through his chest. She felt it through where her ear pressed. He called her that strange title again, using the most ear-pleasing tone. He had a rich, deep voice. She didn’t know what the words meant. And with his brogue, she didn’t really care, either.

They started sinking. It wasn’t a rapid descent like she’d been expecting. No rocketing down toward a bone-crunching hit. Nope. He still moved with speed that defied reason, but it was at a downward angle. She couldn’t tell for certain. Rain and dark hampered her vision. They weren’t as high as a commercial jet, but they had to be high. Her ears popped occasionally. This just wasn’t possible. The rain was still falling, fairly heavily. She probably would be soaked if he hadn’t been wrapped about her and moving at hyper-speed. And she should have been chilled. She really shouldn’t feel warm. And tremendously turned on. To an almost frightening level.

Man. Oh, man. This was like a fantasy for one.

“Ah. There ’tis. Watford Station.”

Okay. Make that a fantasy for two.

“Watford...Station?” she repeated.

“I’ve na’ been here afore, but I’m fair certain...aye. ’Tis Watford, all right. There’s the car. At last!”

His brogue made the words almost unintelligible. Or maybe it was the speed he moved. Or the breathless tone to his words. He sounded almost like he might be experiencing the same sexual overload.
Oh brother, Marla. Get a grip here.
That was ridiculous. Impossible. Utterly fantastic. Then again, those words described the entire episode ever since he’d crashed through the window of the ladies room. If this was a psychotic episode, she should have embraced them a lot sooner. She had access to all kinds of mind and mood altering substances. Maybe she’d been just a little prudish in denying herself.

He spun without warning, Marla instinctively grabbed tighter about him. And then he smacked against an obstruction with his shoulder. A moment later, the obstruction turned into a set of doors that opened inward, showing a dark, fire-lit interior and two fellows in fancy white suits, and...another wow. That was funny. Their faces were devoid of anything except welcoming smiles.

“MacCorrick? Cullen MacCorrick?”

One of them asked it and tipped his head as they passed by. Cullen stopped in the middle of the space, dwarfing just about everything. The view altered to include large, over-stuffed leather couches along the back wall, warmth and light that emanated from a beautifully preserved antique stove thing in the corner, massive amounts of paneling, strips of dark brocade material, and world-class paintings just about everywhere else.

“Aye.”

The man holding her answered. She didn’t hear it as much as feel the vibration along where her ear was still pressed.
His name is Cullen.
Oh.
Marla
. He had a killer name, too. It sounded as sexy as the man. That figured. Why would she even question it, though? If she had to have a fantasy experience based in lust and desire and passion, she didn’t want it marred by something as stupid as a non-romantic name.

Like Chad.

Marla giggled. The man she now knew as Cullen tipped his head to look down at her, using his free hand to sweep the hair off his forehead. Marla’s heart swooped the moment their eyes touched. Holy cow. The experience was devastating in a thrill-inducing way. Spell-binding. Enthralling. The arm wrapped about her tightened enough it lifted her feet off the floor.
No. Wait
. She hadn’t reached the floor yet.
So what, Marla?
She hadn’t been experiencing reality for some time. That was no great loss, as far as she was concerned.

“You barely made last call.”

One of the attendants spoke, interrupting whatever spell Cullen was casting. He blinked, lifted his head and shook it before turning around, taking Marla with him. It took her a few seconds longer to react. She hadn’t had much time to look him over, and never with this much light. And...

Holy shit
.

He had the most kissable lips she’d ever seen.

“I’ve caught moving trains afore.”

She barely caught the motion to move a hand from where it was clasped about his side in order to reach up and caress his mouth as he asked it. She’d thought the brogue behind every word was captivating. She’d been wrong. Watching him say it was even more mesmerizing.

A train whistle answered him, followed by the tell-tale clunk-sound as car after car was pulled along behind engines. It took an act of will to move her vision from Cullen. She watched as both attendants shut the doors, one on either side, and then a bolt shot across them, adding an instant quiet to the space. Their car lurched as it started up. Cullen adjusted to it automatically. His leg flexed where it was sandwiched between hers. And then, without one bit of instruction or approval from her, her thighs tightened on his.
Oh. My
. The flood of desire that shot through her was an absolute surprise. It may have been the same to him, if the instant jerk he gave was an indicator. And then everything about him went hard. Everywhere. Including all kinds of stirring that happened right above her front thigh as his purse thing thumped against her leg.

Oh.

Holy crap.

This was incredible. Unprecedented. Unbelievable. And inescapably wonderful. Her eyelids lowered. Her breath caught. And shivers erupted everywhere. A different Marla Sanders had taken over somehow. There wasn’t a thing she could do to change it. Nor did she have any desire to do so. She’d never been this forward, felt this uninhibited, and she’d never done anything so free and unfettered. She should be cringing in embarrassment, rather than clinging to his leg almost like a stripper would a pole.

“Will there be anything before we retire? Would your lady fancy a light repast? Perhaps a bottle of chilled champagne?”

“
Anam-charaid?
”

He tipped his head to look down at her again. He didn’t have his hair pulled back now. She’d never been a fan of long-haired men. She was rapidly changing her opinion. His hair framed and shadowed his face as he looked at her. Their eyes met. His were dark bluish green. Hers, the same brown shade as her hair. Her heart stopped. The entire world disappeared. There was just him. And her. And an endless fascination behind his gaze.

I’d like to know where the bedroom is.

He grinned, as if she’d said it aloud. His eyes flickered strangely. She couldn’t tell the color, but there was definitely a depth that tempted and then ensnared. There was something different about his mouth, too. Something...odd. Her eyes caught it, but her intellect dismissed it. He still had the most kissable-looking mouth she’d ever seen. She couldn’t wait to taste it.

But...were those
spikes?
???

No. No, Marla. You are imagining things
.

Again.

Still.

She probably should have paid attention to more than his eyes, the connection of her arms wrapped about him, how strong his thigh felt where she gripped it between hers. Because she didn’t notice how the décor changed. Nor did she note when the attendants left or to where. The room she found herself in was candlelit, flickers bouncing off lacquered black surfaces, filtering through darkness with light from a myriad of sources.

“Where...are we?”

The words came out in such a husky timbre, they scratched her throat. Was that voice really hers? She sounded like thick desire on warm flesh. It matched exactly how she felt. Hot and bothered, anxious and edgy, wound up to breaking point...and not one bit like herself.

“’Tis a bedroom.”

Oh hell. His brogue colored the statement. She was in way over her head here, and heading into deeper territory with every passing moment. And she didn’t even care. He pressed what had to be his lips to her forehead before lifting her in his arms, gaining her a vantage point so near the ceiling she almost bumped into it. Then he twisted. Moved. Her back met a wealth of mattress, slick with silken sheets that warmed almost instantly. And then he dented the structure with his frame as he joined her.

She’d suspected he had a fantastic body. The actual discovery was beyond comprehension. Her hands roved him, fingers molding about the indentations of washboard abs, the swell of pecs, the ripped biceps in his upper arms. And everywhere she touched, she garnered a growing tempest of reaction. Her frame vibrated with longing. His wasn’t far behind. The groan he put into play carried every bit of his shuddering. And when he spoke words against her throat, he sent a blizzard of shivers in their wake.

“Oh, lass. Lass.
Anam-charaid.
I’ve waited so long. You ready?” he asked.

“For...what?” The sex siren named Marla asked.

“Me.”

And then he bit her.

Cullen had a long memory. And a lot of years to fill it. Back when Akron had first approached with The Offer, the man had been cryptic. He’d made it sound like a decision that needed careful pondering. Becoming a member of the Vampire Assassin League wasn’t entry to eternal life. It was the same as death. And it was forever. You stayed the same physically. You would never thirst, hunger, need medical attention. But there was a price to pay. Vampirism meant you lost all emotion. Feeling. Sensation. No longer would you feel joy. Suffer lust. Experience pleasure.

Still, Cullen MacCorrick hadn’t hesitated. He was young. Hale and hearty. Fit and virile. He was a man who did everything by reflex. Pondering, reasoning, and weighing decisions were an old man’s way of life. He’d accepted Akron’s offer with alacrity. His other choice was a scheduled execution the following morn, and, according to his guards, the Sassenach had an especially gruesome one planned for him.

He hadn’t fully understood what Akron had been describing until it happened. He hadn’t realized what lack of pleasure actually meant. Cullen had taken the act of lovemaking as a given. A supreme gift to all mankind. He’d been wrong. Losing that had been akin to purgatory. And it was forever. Akron had been off on his description, too. Not about the dead part. Lack of function and ability was instantaneous. That was true. But lust? That was another issue entirely. The ghosts of passion and desire and interest had still been there. As well as the memories.

Then even those faded.

Until the night at Stonehenge. When he’d met his soul mate. His
Anam-charaid
in his native Scot Gaelic. Her. Marla.

Being near her was an astounding experience. Touching her was tantamount to achieving paradise. Even when he’d lived, Cullen couldn’t recall experiencing things to such an extent. It was better than the first lungful of air after a deep dive into a loch. Larger than the thrill of battle. It soared beyond what winning a clan skirmish had felt like. Or a midnight cattle raid. It was better than the moment when he’d earned his father’s respect and been named heir.

And then he tasted her blood.

By the goddess,
Druantia,
Queen of the Druids! The deity who ruled passions. Sex. Creativity...

Cullen’s groan carried some of the rapture as he sucked at her throat. He was instantly hooked. Completely enmeshed. Totally absorbed. She tasted of pure bliss! Light! Wonder! He shuddered, blinked rapidly at the instant stab of tears, and pulled her closer, tucking her body alongside his. She was wondrously sweet. Warm. Perfect. He couldn’t get enough, nor could he do it quickly enough.

Her moans alerted him.

Cullen yanked his fangs from her with the reflex action. Blood spray filtered through his vision, coating the sheets. Walls. Creating a hiss and sputter as it met candle flame. His heart was giving him trouble. It matched hers. It wasn’t pounding in strong, quick, fierce beats like it had been moments before. His heartbeats were coming much slower. And they were weak. She was rocking her head from side-to-side, too. She looked pale. Her lips had lost color. She was no longer warm. And she was trembling.

Oh, bollocks
.

Cullen called himself every kind of fool. He’d gone insane. What was he doing? He mustn’t drain her. Not yet. He had legions of time to change her. Vast spans of existence for that. He slashed a canine along his wrist, opening an artery, and then placed it above her mouth.

“Drink, my
anam-charaid.
”

Oh! How he wished he’d been gifted with a silvered tongue rather than warrior strength and agility! Or had any reason to work at his orating skills in the intervening centuries of existence. Cullen wasn’t a man who sought companionship. And he was a man of action. Words had seemed a waste of time. Until now.

“Marla-love? Please? Drink.”

Her lips touched him, erasing every thought. It took an act of will to stay motionless as her moans turned to mews of pleasure while she took from him. But he had to stop this before she went too far, and they had the opposite problem. Cullen moved his arm away with the same sense of reluctance she released it, licked at the cut to close it, watched her as he did so. And somehow contained the joy.
Oh
! He was so favored. Incredibly so. His mate was incredibly beautiful! Fresh. Without artifice. A dark fringe of lashes shielded her eyes from him. The sable color matched her hair. She had a lot more of it than he’d suspected, too. She’d worn it in braids, wrapped about her head. They’d come unfastened. Three long braids were entwined about him at least twice, acting as bondage...as if he needed it.

Her skirt had ridden up her thighs as she clutched at him. His kilt had done him the same favor. The combination of material bunched about their hips creating a bumper he didn’t need and a sight he couldn’t ignore. Cullen glanced down and couldn’t look away. His mate had spectacular legs. Slender. Trim. And...was it possible? She was hairless? He’d heard of women who shaved their legs. Seen an advert or two about it. He’d never actually known what it meant, and how it sculpted and defined feminine curves. Cullen caught another groan but it rumbled through his chest anyway. The view surpassed anything he could have imagined.

Ah.

This mate of his was beyond perfection. She was desire wrapped in excitement. Allure sheathed in beauty. Enticement swathed in fantasy and imagination he hadn’t realized he possessed.

She had a very nice bosom, too. He felt every nuance as she lifted off the mattress and pressed that perfect bosom against his chest. He’d already noted the flimsy-looking brassiere she wore. It was beneath a gauzy bit of material. That shirt didn’t conceal much. It was as effective as mist since they’d been in the elements. And she’d been wet. Neither clothing item did a thing to alter how anything felt. Having her breasts against him just added stimulation where he didn’t need and desire he was having difficulty containing.

The need to cleave with her was overwhelming. Throbbing through his veins with every beat of his reawakened heart. Demanding. Expecting. Stimulating. Cullen fought to control it. It was nearly impossible. Still, he did it. He didn’t even know why. Something else was orchestrating this. Something massive. Beyond contemplation. Supreme. He’d waited too long for her. Finding his mate was too special. How consummating their union would feel was beyond his imagination. He wasn’t taking her rapidly. He refused to allow a testosterone-fueled frenzy to dominate any part of it.

Cullen scrunched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, snarling slightly as he held himself apart from her. Taut. Hard. Constrained. The bedstead shook beneath them while his sporran took the brunt of his arousal with the repeated lunges he made. Even the railway car worked against him. Every continual sway hammered at his self-restraint, synchronizing the natural rhythm his body was begging for. Each move sent his loins hammering toward hers. Over and over. Separated by a fraction of space, seeming yards of material, and one sporran.

“Cullen?”

Her breath touched him, raising goose bumps. She sounded hesitant. Unsure. Excruciatingly young. She’d loosened her hold about him too, sagging back to the mattress while he’d held himself in check. And he hadn’t even noticed? Cullen opened his eyes, sucked in a breath, and moved his gaze to meet hers. She had a patina of moisture atop her eyes. The tip of her tongue touching a blood-stained bottom lip. The slightest line between her eyes as if she was worried.

She worried?

Cullen dropped onto her, pushing air from her ribcage with his weight. He couldn’t help it. The loss of control was instantaneous and complete. She had the body of his dreams and lips made for kissing. He wasn’t just kissing, though. He was gulping, and sucking, and marauding. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, shocking him. The world halted. Everything poised for the longest moment while he absorbed the play of her tongue against his. And then, like a tide that had been dammed up for too long, everything started back up again.

Oh! By all the gods! This was wondrous! Unbelievable! Incredible!

Cullen pushed up onto his elbows, cupping her face in his palms for leverage, using the motions she’d just taught him. This mode of kissing was new to him. He’d completely missed this when he’d lived. It went beyond thrilling – as if the top of his head might fly off. He couldn’t get enough. Her hands moved all about his back while she writhed beneath him, her motions accompanying the sway of the car. Her fingers seemed to shoot heat clear through him. Everywhere she touched. She went lower. Her fingers grazed the back of his belt. Her touch singed. Ignited. She delved beneath his kilt...grabbed at his ass, and Cullen responded instantly with a solid, uncontrollable lurch that separated their mouths.

His sporran got shoved aside. Yards of MacCorrick kilt and her skirt followed. Where it hampered, he tore. Questing fingers found her thighs. The top of a stocking. The sweet firmness of flesh. A strip of material he pushed aside, and...
what was this?
She didn’t have any hair on her loins, either?

He explored, his fingers completely overcome. Interested. Fascinated. The growl he gave might’ve frightened her. It scared him. He’d never felt anything like this. He reached her center. Found the entrance to her cavern. Heat and damp surrounded him, suctioning him toward paradise. Cullen’s fingers started vibrating. Furious and fast. Inexorable. Relentless. Her response was to say his name over and over, interspersed with the word ‘wow’. Like a chant.

“Cullen. Wow. Cullen. Oh, wow. Cullen.”

The final recitation was accompanied by her body arching upward, lifting him with the power of her release. Her cry rent the air and teased his ear before it dissolved into laughter. He caught her mouth with another deep kiss as he yanked her hips into place. He wasn’t waiting another moment. She was hot. Ready. She had exactly what he craved. And what he most wanted.

He needed to be sheathed. Enwrapped. Enveloped. And he needed it now.

Right now
.

Cullen held her in place with one hand and guided with the other. The moment he was aimed, he shoved. He wasn’t a small man. Anywhere. And she was so small. Tight. And unbelievably hot. He was close to erupting as he pushed, every inch gaining him a plethora of flesh-pleasing coils. Squeezing. Enclosing. His grunts matched her squeals as she stretched to accommodate his size. Width. Length.

“Oh...Cullen. Oh.
Wow
.”

Her voice lowered on his name and the last word was choked. And that was before Cullen started his withdrawal, pulling out just far enough so he could ram back in. Withdraw. Return. Again. And again. Each time, he gained a gasp from her lips, another recitation of his name, and another gasped ‘wow.’ Cullen grinned and increased his efforts. Using harder strokes. Going deeper with each one. She was right with him every time, her legs gripped about him so she could lift to meet him, and assist with the withdrawal. His canines lengthened, slicing lip flesh, opening fresh cuts. Cullen barely felt it.

Drops of blood hit the scene. Dark. Thick. The temperature rose, matching the inferno they were creating. Candlelight fluttered through the area, glinting off black lacquered walls, highlighting her cheek, the shadow of her cleavage, the curve of a thigh. Cullen didn’t dare blink for what he might miss. She tossed her head back more than once, sending cries of pleasure out to surround them. And each one felt like it reached his heart. He increased his efforts. Thrusting. Withdrawing. Again. Harder. Faster. The bed started jumping with their movements, rocking faster than the rail car was swaying, making a whirlpool of movement that was centered by her.

His mate. His one and only.

His woman.

A sliver of sensation built along his spine, pulling his ribs into the fray. It slid down his back, joining the knot of pressure already there. Building on it. Adding to it. The hammering motion of her heels stopped it momentarily, before something tipped the scale, as if sparking fire to a fuse. Then nothing stopped the surge of absolute pleasure, pain, and bliss that rocketed through him. Cullen went airborne with his release, grabbing her to him and holding her tight as the car’s ceiling stopped his ascent. His head and backbone thumped into the wood as he shimmied along it. He didn’t notice. He was pulsing and sobbing and groaning aloud with absolute ecstasy as he emptied into her.

He’d lost control over everything. And he didn’t remotely care.