A Wicked Hunger (Creatures of Darkness 1) (6 page)

He could hear short gasps coming from her as she hurriedly slipped her shirt back over her head. If he hadn’t just experienced
essentially what amounted to a swift kick to his mind’s balls, he probably would have seen what was coming.

Propelling off the bed, she threw the door open wide and rushed outside before the knob ricocheted off the wall and the door slammed shut behind her.

“Shit.” He buttoned his fly and raced after her.

She hadn’t gotten far, just to the middle of the lot. When he closed his arms around her torso from behind, she screamed and began kicking her legs wildly.

“Calm yourself,” he ordered, finding no trouble holding onto her.

“Let me go!”

“I can’t do that,” he replied in a reasonable tone, his body still thrumming with pleasure.

She sniffed and let out a terrible sob, all the while thrashing in his grip. He wasn’t worried about the noise. This was a deeply rural area where people kept to themselves.

He dragged her back inside the room and caged her with his body against the closed door, locking gazes with her. “Relax and calm down.” He pushed only the slightest bit of compulsion into the command, hating to have to resort to that much. When she didn’t respond, he tried again with a bit more zeal.

Still nothing.

Her face was red, panic stricken, and streaked with tears. Her thrashing continued.

Pushing the full force of his compulsion into his voice, he growled, “Stop crying.”

A sob filtered through her lungs, and her tears came harder.

He cocked his head. “What the fuck?”

That’s when she went utterly still, as though she’d come to a terrifying realization. She peeked up at him through tear soaked eyes.

“
Rheol Eithriad
?” he gasped. The exception to the rule. Otherwise known as,
Lurela
: a person that cannot be compelled. He’d never come across one before. Of course his first would have to be Cora! “Dammit all to hell.”

Although she seemed to be calming, weighing his reaction—which told him she knew about her natural resistance—the look in her eye said she would run from him at the first opportunity.

How could she be so upset after the blissful, mind-rocking experience they’d just shared? Religions were built around such things. His masculine pride took a pile-drive to the gut.

He glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight.

“We’ll talk about this in the morning.” Maybe then he could muster up an authentic apology. Right now it would seem insincere to her ears, especially because it would be. “We have a ways to go tomorrow, and we both need to get some sleep.”

He released her and pointed to the bed.

She looked at it and mumbled, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

His mood darkened even more. “I don’t think so. You’ll just try to run when I fall asleep.”

“No, I won’t.” She lied so easily.

“I’m not taking the chance.” He guided her by the elbow to the bed.

Thankfully, she appeared to be out of defiance for the moment. She crawled onto the mattress and pulled the covers around her like a cocoon, then placed a pillow in the middle of the bed as a barrier between them.

After shutting off the light
and claiming the opposite side of the bed, he snatched her faux wall and disgruntledly shoved it under his head. Then he reached under her refuge of blankets, hooked his arm around her waist to pull her flush against him.

“What are you doing?” She brazenly swatted at his arm and bowed away from him.

“It’s either this, or I tie you up for the night. Your choice.”

“I prefer to be tied up, then.”

“I lied. It’s my choice. Go to sleep.”

Cora cosigned herself to Mace’s arms and settled in. She didn’t have much of a choice. She was just glad this was the only retaliation for her attempted escape, which had been spurred by
his powerfully erotic snuffing of her lust. She had been too surprised to think straight.

Humans had once thought of vampires as cold, undead creatures, who required blood to survive. Mason was anything but cold
at the moment. The warmth of his body seeped into her back, as did his pulse, which was noticeably slower than hers—adrenaline still spiked wildly in her veins.

No, vampires were flesh and blood, same as humans. Whether evolved or otherworldly was debatable, but definitely top of the food chain.

Currently, she was on the bottom, right underneath krill.

As for needing blood to survive?
That part was all too true.

As Cora lay there, immersed in one of her greatest nightmares, she evaluated the end of her life as she knew it. Mace now knew she could not be compelled by him or, as far as she could
tell, any other vampire. She could not be made to forget the salacious act they’d just shared, the location of wherever it was he intended to take her, or this whole illegal vampire blood business.

She’d been inclined to hope for a swift and immediate death when this fiasco was over…but now? Now he would claim her, take her to his clan and demand to keep her, just as Edgar had.

For the sole purpose of being cruel, Edgar had explained in gory detail what happened to lone humans amongst vampires. And it all started with a bite.

Well, Mace had bitten her.

And once her brain had pushed past the unexpected and consuming pleasure of it, the realization had made her rash. She couldn’t believe she tried to run from him—the stupidest thing one could do in the presence of a vampire. They were animalistic by nature. Running only invoked their urge to chase, to hunt.

Edgar had explained that as well, which was why she’d been too scared to attempt an escape, and she’d been too scared to run the instant his commander had told her to go, directly after having killed Edgar.

That fear may have actually saved her life that day. More than one vamp had studied her with glossy-eyed interest as she’d turned and forced her feet into slow but sure action, counting the steps till she was outside the old abandoned building.

The heat of the sun in mid-day on her skin had
lifted her spirits like nothing else ever had, even though vampires were not hindered by it—another false rumor that had spread through humanity. They could have still gone after her if they’d wanted.

But they hadn’t.

Still, it had been several months till she felt out of danger. Even then, she treaded with more caution than a field mouse in an aviary if she even imagined a vampire might be near.

She should have been just as cautious of humans, she supposed.
Among others, Winston had found her easy enough to take advantage of. She’d been so enamored with him and his elaborate life-style, she’d turned a blind eye to the warning signs. It was too easy now to look back and recognize the reality of the situation. Especially that time she had tried to refuse that glass of wine he’d offered her after she’d injured her ankle. He had been livid and practically forced the wine down her throat.

How many times had he fed her blood and waited to see if it would make her ill, or worse, kill her? How many times had she brushed off the fact that she healed far too rapidly than should’ve been expected? 

She didn’t know how long she ran through every scenario, berating herself for each one, but eventually her mind eased till she nodded off completely.

The musky scent of dampened soap, along with the sound of rushing water, lulled Cora awake. The edge of morning seeped through the drawn curtains. She sat up, surprised to find herself alone in the bed, and the shower running with the bathroom door left open.

The water cut off, and her heart jumped. She wouldn’t be surprised if Mace could hear it hammering from within the other room. He emerged a moment later, a white towel around his
slim waist.

Because she hadn’t fully shrugged off the haze of slumber, her eyes unabashedly took in the impeccably sculpted muscles of his chest and arms, seeming to get stuck on his six-pack abs. He scrutinized her for a
moment, and the corner of his lips quirked upward.

She frowned. The last thing she needed was for him to think she appreciated what she saw.

Her gaze shifted to the door, longingly.

“Woman, I will chase you butt-ass naked if I have to,” Mace said in a tone that brokered no doubt.

That brought her attention back, specifically toward his crotch. Heat flooded her cheeks as well as other parts of her anatomy.

What was wrong with her? Had the lust carried over from the previous night, or had she just woken up insane?

He arched a brow. “I think I used up most of the hot water,” he announced, and then smirked. “But maybe that will work to your advantage this morning.”

Her flush deepened. Even though she hadn’t meant to, she had become aroused, and, to her extreme embarrassment, he could tell.

“Wasn’t expecting a compliment like this after the kick to my ego you delivered last night.”

Her brow furrowed. What did he mean by that?

She didn’t bother rationalizing his words. Instead, she slipped off the bed and crossed to the bathroom, not meeting his gaze as she passed. Still, she could feel him watching her go with an intensity that was almost tangible.

Inside, she closed the door. Her jaw dropped as she took in her reflection. Aside from her wild mane of hair, she looked…great. There were no marks on her face to indicate she’d been in a horrific accident less than twenty-four hours ago. Her eyes
sparkled the color of warm mocha dipped in gold. Her skin was smooth and even, almost radiant, like porcelain. Even her lips, which she’d always considered too plump, now seemed to complement her features. 

If this was the work of Mason’s blood, she could see why Winston’s rich friends would covet the stuff. What she couldn’t understand was the risk they courted
by procuring it illegally, especially for people who had practically everything they could ever want. Why play with fire when the pit created under the flames could so easily swallow you up?

As Mace predicted, the water grew cold by the end of her shower. No matter. This far from the city, having warm water at all was an unexpected luxury. In the ghetto, most resorted to heating water in pots and transferring it to a tub for what was, at best, not a freezing cold bath.

A soft curse graced her lips as she stepped out of the stall. She’d forgotten to grab her clothing before entering the bathroom. Now she would have to waltz out there in front of Mace in just a towel.

She gnashed her teeth and held her chin up as she stepped outside, but her posturing was unnecessary. The room was empty.

She had no illusions that Mace had gone far, however. Trying to run now would only piss him off.

With no other option, she dressed in her obnoxiously tight outfit. Once again, she wished she had chosen something that wasn’t so overtly sexy. She’d just finished tying the belt of her trench coat when Mace returned. He too had dressed in his clothing from the day before: dark slacks and a black buttoned up shirt.

He paused in the doorway when he saw her, and his gaze traveled her length as if he were imagining what resided under her coat. Her first instinct was to shoot him an indignant glare. Then she remembered herself and turned her eyes down.

There was a small paper bag in his hand. His fist tightened on the folded top before he thrust it at her. “Here. I got you some breakfast. Eat quickly. We have to get a move on.”

For some reason, she got the impression she’d done something to displease him, but couldn’t fathom what it could be.

Accepting the bag, she peeked inside and gasped. “Where did you get this?”

She pulled out the large slice of coffee cake. Of all the treats in the world, coffee cake was by far her greatest weakness. When she was younger, she would sometimes stand outside the bakeries every morning just to smell it. Up until it became more of a punishment than a pleasure. Few people threw away such delicacies for the vagrants to fight over.

After marrying Winston, she’d eaten a slice nearly every morning. A couple of times, she had even purchased an entire cake and left it near her old stomping ground where the old-timers who had always been kind to her hung around. However, that stopped the day Winston caught her. She still couldn’t understand why it had made him so angry.

“One of our mountain neighbors was in a baking mood,” Mace replied. “Been smelling it all morning.”

She frowned as realization struck her. “You compelled someone out of it?”

Mace rolled his eyes. “Do you want it or not?”

Conflicted, she bit into the cake and groaned out loud. Mace actually smiled, looking satisfied. But why would he be? For that matter, why would he care if she went hungry? Perhaps he was afraid she’d start complaining during their travels and didn’t want to deal with it.

Or maybe keeping her fed worked to his advantage, like a farmer with his livestock. She shuddered.

Cora ate every last crumb and even contemplated licking the bag—who knew when she’d get a treat like th
is again?—but Mace was in a hurry.

Outside, Cora climbed onto the back of the bike and waited for Mace to take his place at her front, but he just stared at her.

“What is it?” She checked to see if she had dropped crumbs down her front, finding none. When she looked back up, Mace had his phone out and snapped a picture.

“Now that’s a sight to remember,” he said.

She was stunned into silence, trying to see herself from his perspective. Her boot-clad leg, the one closest to him, was stretched to the ground, holding her steady on the bike, still tilted on its kickstand. About four inches of her thigh showed between her tall boot and the hem of her coat. Her other leg was bent, her foot resting on the peg. One of her hands gripped the back rest, angling her torso toward Mason. All in all, it made for a pose that reminded her of those biker babe magazines, but Cora was anything but sexy. She probably looked more like a drowned rat with her hair still wet from the shower.

And Mace was laughing at her.

She scowled at him. He snapped another picture, then slipped his phone back in his pocket and mounted the bike.

“Hold on,” he ordered.

Grudgingly, she obeyed, and he fired up the engine. The motorcycle sprang forward with unexpected speed. Cora flexed her arms tighter around Mace, fixing her torso flat against his back. Over the roar of the engine she couldn’t hear it, but she could swear he chuckled at her.

Several hours later they were still winding through tight, nearly abandoned mountain roads. She would have been bored out of her mind if it wasn’t for the brilliant scenery. The dead burned landscape had given way to lush green forest, blanketing endless hills and valleys that were only broken up by steep stony mountains.

Winston had never entertained the idea of visiting the countryside. This part of the world was inhabited by what he would call “crazies.” Whether that was true or not, they preferred to live alone, or in small groups, surviving off the land. She’d heard that those types of people, the kind that lived in camouflaged huts and flossed with bark, were reclusive, often paranoid, and could be violently territorial. Anyone who ventured this far without proper protection risked, well, everything.

Most of the time, the rest of the world left them alone.

Maybe that wasn’t such a terrible way to live, she thought, considering the struggles of her own life.

Then again, who knew what kind of existence that would mean, especially for someone like
her. In life—whether in the slums, or a high-rise, apparently—the strong preyed on the weak, and she was about as weak as they came…

Before Winston, she’d only just been capable of protecting herself, mostly by keeping her head down and making herself as unassuming as humanly possible.

That tactic had worked for her on occasion, though, not always. She eyed the back of Mason’s head—case in point.

Suffice it to say, unstable mountain folk would eat her for breakfast
if they had the chance. It was dangerous just to be out here on the road in plain view where anyone could be tracking their movement from a high summit.

Yet, miraculously, she wasn’t worried.

A frightening thought popped into her head: she wasn’t afraid of the crazies because nothing matched the savagery of a territorial vampire. Nothing would get her while she was in his custody.

Nothing but him.

She shivered, and he eased off the gas, giving her his profile. “Do you need a break?”

“I’m fine,” she replied.

He slowed and halted the bike on a narrow pull-off by the side of the road that was cut short by a small cliff. Below was a wide bank hugging a slow, winding river. The surrounding overgrowth was thick with trees, man-sized bushes, and other unkempt shrubbery.

“I’m old enough to know that when a woman says she’s fine, it usually means the opposite.” He toed down the kickstand, making it final.

The instant she dismounted the bike, her legs nearly gave out from the strange jelly sensation.

Mace reached out to steady her, and she flinched away. “I’m fine, really.”

He frowned. “I hoped you’d be less skittish toward me today.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she said nothing as she walked around to stretch her legs. A light breeze carried the scent of fresh soil in the air. It wasn’t a smell often found in the city, where pungent exhaust and trash perfumed the streets.

Out here the air felt new, fresh, and unsullied, almost giving the illusion of freedom.

Almost.

Mace watched Cora
come to a halt several feet from the edge of the short cliff and wrap her arms around herself as she gazed out. Her expression was one that he’d seen all too often, but only from afar, across a restaurant or through military-grade binoculars. What that expression meant, he didn’t know. He could only describe it as forlorn. 

He hadn’t liked it then, and he abhorred it now.

Mace approached her. “Look, I’m sorry you’re so unhappy with what happened, but it was necessary.”

Her head turned his way, though she studied the ground at his feet. “It was anything but necessary. Do what you will with me, but there’s no need to lie.”

Mace paused, surprised by her response. “You needed my help. And if you recall, we didn’t even have sex.” Though the temptation had almost destroyed him.

“No, you only made me beg for it.” Her expression hardened, but then she turned away as though ashamed. She nearly choked on her next words. “And you
bit
me.”

He went still. Was that what bothered her the most? A dark thought settled in the pit of his stomach? “Did it hurt…? When I bit you?” He’d never come across anyone who didn’t find pleasure in the act. But then, he’d never met a
Lurela
.

Her brow furrowed as her cheeks flushed. Even though she didn’t answer, he could tell she had liked it…at least a little. And yet, she shouldn’t be surprised by that. He recalled her suggesting she had been bit before. So then what was the problem?

“My bite helped to alleviate most of your need,” he explained. “I assumed it would be better than the alternative.”

Truthfully, he’d been so overcome with desire for her he’d taken her vein without thinking.

She went silent for a long while, scanning the landscape.

“I hadn’t intended for any of that to happen, you know,” he said. “I just gave you too much of my blood, that’s all.”