When Passion Lies: A Shadow Keepers Novel (17 page)

Her brow furrowed as she rose to her feet. “Go? As in—”

“Home. Back to him.”

“What about your intelligence? What about the girl?”

“Not your problem.”

She peered at him. “A few hours ago you were making it my problem.”

“A fact about which you complained loudly. I’m doing you a favor. I’ll find another source. As you said, you hardly have an in with Lihter.”

“I have more of an in than you do.”

He looked at her, standing there with sweat glistening off her, her hair pushed back from her face and her eyes blazing. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to touch her. It was an impulse he fought and would continue to fight. A battle that would be more easily won when she was gone. “Why are you arguing about this? You don’t really want to stay.”

“Ah, but I really want the Highlands.”

“For your precious Gunnolf.”

She smiled sweetly.

“Fine. Go, and the Highlands are yours.”

He could tell from her expression that she hadn’t been expecting that.

“Aren’t you generous today? But I think I’m going to stay anyway.”

He almost growled in frustration. “Dammit, Caris. Why?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I changed my mind. Maybe I’m a little pissed off at Lihter for everything he’s done to Gunnolf. Maybe I want to help you find out what he’s up to.” She smiled, all sweet and innocent. “Or maybe I just can’t stand to leave your side. It’s so warm and cozy and welcoming here.”

“Dammit, Caris. We are not playing this game.”

“Good. Then we’re agreed. I’m staying. I’m helping.”

“No. Learn when to back out gracefully.”

“Me? Perhaps you need to learn to graciously accept help when help is offered.” She got up, then strode toward him, all strength and determination. “Maybe I don’t have an in with Lihter, but I have spent almost twenty years with the werens. Or had you forgotten? No,” she added, looking into his eyes. “I see that you haven’t.” Her nose wrinkled. “Is that anger I smell? Loathing? Do you hate me so much that you won’t let me help you?” She cocked her head to the side. “Or maybe you’re afraid I’ll bring out the wolf and destroy your precious Paris.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you. Because you’ve learned how to control it.”

“Then tell me, Tiberius. Why can’t I stay? Why refuse my help?”

He had no intention of answering. He’d played politics long enough to know how to school his face to reveal only what he wanted. He could come up with pretty words that masked the truth. And yet he didn’t.

Instead, he spoke the truth.

“Because it hurts, Caris. It pains me to look at you. To know that you’ve been in another man’s arms, and that I was the one who drove you there.”

She was looking at him, her mouth slightly open and her brow furrowed.

He turned away. “I looked at you. I looked at Giorgio. And the daemon—Caris, my daemon. It burned. It raged and it burned and it tore at me like it hadn’t for over two thousand years.”

“Because of me.”

“Because of
me
,” he corrected. “Because I let that happen to you. I was supposed to protect you, and yet I couldn’t find you. I looked, and you were gone, and when you came back I saw just how much havoc my failure had wrought.”

“And so you tossed me away?”

“I tossed you away so that I wouldn’t lose myself. I’d failed you already. And I failed my people by letting you live. Hell, you were dangerous. And there wasn’t any scenario in which you could stay.”

“You told me to learn control. I did. But you never came after me.” She spoke matter-of-factly, but he heard the recrimination.

“How could I? You were with Gunnolf.”

She said nothing, then cocked her head. “Because my being with a weren disgusted you? Or because there was
no way a Vampire Alliance rep could be with a woman who once cozied up to Gunnolf?”

“Both,” he said. And then, before he could close his mouth and keep the truth in, he continued. “But what really hurt was that you found solace with Gunnolf. That he helped you, when all I did was hurt you. Hell,” he added, “it’s as much my fault as yours that Giorgio’s dead.”

She shook her head. “No. That was me.”

“And I drugged you. You woke up scared. Betrayed.” He closed his eyes. Gathered himself. “That weighs heavy upon me.”

She managed a half smile. “You could try hitting the punching bag. I promise it helps.”

He forced himself to relax, to lose the tension that the memories had strung through him. “Oh, Caris. That’s why I want you to go. Because I look at you now, and I cannot escape the simple truth. What has passed between us can never be changed. And when you’re near, the wounds open all over again.”

He watched her as he spoke, watched her face, as unmoving as ice. And then he turned away, her stoicism cutting as much as her sharp tongue could.

“Did Reinholt turn against Gunnolf? Was that why you killed him?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then why?”

She cocked her head. “It’s just driving you crazy that I’m not telling you exactly what you want to know, isn’t it?”

“It’s rather irritating, yes.”

She laughed at that, and the tension diffused just a little.

“Dammit, Tiberius,” she said. “Can’t we just chalk it up to PMS and be done with it?”

“It’s not as satisfying an explanation as I was hoping for.” He took a step toward her, saw the fire in her eyes flare when she chose to hold her ground and not back away. Between them the air crackled and sparked, the product of her desire to run battling against her determination to stay. He could feel it, the scent of her will thick upon her. It was heady. Intoxicating. And the memories it brought back were dangerous ones.

He clenched his hands into fists, fighting the urge to see if her skin was as soft as he remembered. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what Reinholt was to you.”

She took a breath, her shoulders rising even as her head dipped down, her eyes aimed at the floor. When she lifted it again, they were as hard as emeralds, her expression equally stony.

“What he was to me? He was
nothing
to me. Nothing and everything all rolled into one.”

Tiberius shook his head, not understanding.

“Dammit, Tiberius. Don’t you get it? He’s the one who did this to me. He’s the one who made me the way I am now.”

He stepped back, her unexpected words hitting him with the same force with which she’d battered the punching bag.

“He caught me. He tortured me. He held me and starved me and tranqued me. He injected me with liquid hematite. Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Do you?” She’d moved closer to him as she spoke, and he saw the way her eyes glistened, tears threatening.

“He made me a hybrid. He
destroyed
me. My life.
Our
life. And now you have the gall to stand there and
ask why I killed him.” She jammed a hard finger into his chest. “Well, fuck you, Tiberius. Fuck. You.”

“Caris,” he whispered, and that was all it took. Her tears fell in earnest, and she started to turn away from him. He reached out, stopping her. “No.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears, her face as soft and anguished as it had been when she’d begged him to help rescue her brother Antonio all those long years ago.

“He did this,” she whispered. “And he—”

But then she was quiet because his mouth was on hers, kissing her, holding her. He wanted to absorb the pain, to erase the hurt, and damned if she wasn’t letting him. Her mouth opening to his, her fingers clinging to him. Her familiar moans, the sweetness of her curves pressed against him. And then—

Nothing
.

Hard hands against his chest, pushing him away. And there she was, her eyes wild, her head shaking. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

“Caris.” He tried to fill the word with apology, but there was nothing that could erase the anguish he saw in her face.

“This isn’t—
no
,” she said again, this time more firmly. “Dammit, Tiberius, don’t you get it? I hate you. You hurt me, and I fucking hate you.”

“You don’t,” he said. “You want to—you have reason to—but you don’t hate me.”

“I do,” she insisted. “I do. I really—”

But she didn’t finish. She couldn’t, because once again his mouth closed over hers, his palms against her face, his fingers in her hair.

She pounded on him, fists thrusting against his back,
but she didn’t force her way out of the kiss. Despite all of her strength, she let him capture her.

He slid his hands down, clutching her back, pulling her toward him. Her mouth opened, her fists stilling as her hands flattened. She gasped beneath him, her mouth hot, her tongue demanding.

He had no illusions about what this meant, what she wanted, even what he wanted. All he knew was that right then, in that moment, he had to have her. Had to soothe her. Had to soothe himself.

Right then they both needed to lose themselves in each other. Recriminations could come later. Now there was nothing but need and desire and a fire so hot it could burn away pain and turn memories to ash.

For now, that would have to be enough.

Her mind was in a whirl. She wanted to pound her fists against him. To kick and pummel and push him away.

But she didn’t. She
couldn’t
. Because his touch—oh, how she’d missed his touch.

This was
Tiberius
, the man whose hands had awakened her, whose body had belonged to her, whose mouth had teased her.

Whose decision had banished her.

No
.

She broke away, thrusting her arms up and out, breaking his grip on her even as she backed up, breathing hard, her body primed to fight—primed to do a whole lot more than that.

“No,” she said.

He stepped toward her. “It’s all over you, you know. The scent of desire. Of sex.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want you anymore,” she lied. “I have a lover, or haven’t you heard?”

He reached out and grabbed her arms with incredible speed. She could have dodged, but she hadn’t been expecting it, and she found herself pressed hard against his chest. “Don’t mention him. Not now. Not in my house.”

“My life, Tiberius. You’re not calling the shots anymore.” She was having trouble concentrating. His body was right there, and her skin was so aware, as if every
cell had opened up and was singing. He was right, she was drenched with desire. She knew what she should do—she should walk away. Go back to her room. Take a cold shower. Do
something
.

But what she wanted to do was right there in front of her.

What she wanted was to show him what he was missing.

Roughly, she wrapped her hand around the back of his head. “You want to go a round? Is that what this is about?”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“Get all hot and sweaty for old times’ sake?” She brushed her mouth over his, trailing her lips to his ear. She nipped at his earlobe. “Do you want to fuck me, Tiberius? Do you want to fuck me because you can’t anymore?”

He didn’t answer. Not in words, anyway. But in one quick motion he had her lips under his, his tongue hard and demanding.

She started to melt against him, but that wouldn’t do. She had to stay in charge. Had to be the one calling the shots in this little game.

Deliberately, she kissed him back, nipping his lower lip so hard it drew blood. She tasted it, metallic and salty and male. More than that, she tasted the need in it.

There were no secrets in blood, and the extent of his desire filled her up. Whatever else might be between them, the longing was real, and she let herself go just a little, losing herself to pleasure in the arms of this man whose body she’d once known as well as her own.

No
. Not losing herself.

She was in charge here. And as she slid her hand down
and stroked his cock, huge and hard under his jeans, she couldn’t help but think how nice it was to be a woman with power.

“Out of these,” she said, her fingers working the button, then the fly. She worked feverishly, getting him out of the pants even as he ripped the sports bra over her head, leaving her clad only in the tiny nylon shorts. Already damp with sweat, and now with desire as well.