He shook his head.
"I think they want you to feed from me. When your transition hits."
John coughed from shock, sure that his eyeballs had popped out of his skull and were rolling down the driveway.
"Sorry." She smiled. "Guess they didn't tell you."
Yeah, he would have remembered that conversation.
"I'm cool with it," she said. "Are you?"
Oh. My. God.
"John?" She cleared her throat. "Tell you what. Do you have something I can write on?"
Numbly, he shook his head. He'd left his pad in the house. Idiot.
"Give me your hand." When he reached out, she got a pen from somewhere and bent over his palm. The nub ran across his skin smoothly. "That's my e-mail address and my IM info. I'll be online in about an hour. Messie me, okay? We'll talk."
He looked at what she'd written. Just stared at it.
She shrugged a little. "I mean, you don't have to or anything. Just... you know. I thought we could get to know each other that way." She paused, as if waiting for a response. "Um... whatever. No pressure. I mean - "
He grabbed her hand, whipped the pen out of it, and flattened her palm.
I want to talk to you, he wrote.
Then he looked straight into her eyes and did the most amazing, ballsy thing.
He smiled at her.
Chapter Fifteen
As dawn came and shutters went down over the windows, Bella drew on the black robe and bolted out of the bedroom she'd been given. With quick eyes, she checked up and down the hallway. No witnesses. Good. Closing the door quietly, she glided over the Persian runner, making no sound at all. When she got to the head of the grand staircase she paused, trying to remember which way to go.
The corridor with the statues, she thought, remembering another trip down that long stretch so many, many weeks ago.
She walked fast and then ran, clutching the lapels of the robe and holding the slit on the bottom closed over her thighs. She passed statues and doors, until she got to the end and stopped in front of the last pair. She didn't bother to collect herself, because she was uncollectible. Loose, ungrounded, in danger of disintegration - there was no collecting anything. She knocked loudly.
Through the door came, "Fuck off. I've crashed."
She turned the knob and pushed. Light from the hall barged in, slicing a pie wedge out of the darkness. As the glow hit Zsadist, he sat up on a pallet of blankets in the far corner. He was naked, his muscles flexing into ridges under his skin, his nipple rings flashing silver. His face, with that scar, was a billboard for the rankly pissed-off male.
"I said, f**k o桞ella?" He covered himself with his hands. "Jesus Christ. What are you doing?"
Good question, she thought as her courage dimmed. "Can... can I stay here with you?"
He frowned. "What are you桸o, you can't."
He grabbed something off the floor and held it in front of his hips as he stood up. With no apologies for her stare, she drank in the sight of him: the tattooed slave bands around his wrists and neck, the gauge in his left earlobe, his obsidian eyes, his skull-trimmed hair. His body was as starkly lean as she remembered, all striated muscles and hard-cut veins and evident bones. Raw power emanated from him like a scent.
"Bella, get out of here, okay? This is not the place for you."
She ignored the command in his eyes and his tone, because although her bravery was gone, desperation gave her the strength she needed.
Now her voice no longer faltered. "When I was so out of it in the car, you were behind the wheel, weren't you?" He didn't respond, but she didn't need him to. "Yes, you were. That was you. You spoke to me. You were the one who came for me, weren't you?"
He flushed. "The Brotherhood came for you."
"But you drove me away. And you brought me here first. To your room." She looked at the luxurious bed. The covers were thrown back, the pillow dented from where her head had lain. "Let me stay."
"Look, you need to be safe - "
"I am safe with you. You saved me. You won't let that lesser get me again."
"No one can touch you here. This place is wired like the goddamned Pentagon."
"Please - "
"No," he snapped. "Now get the hell out of here."
She started to shake. "I can't be alone. Please let me stay with you. I need to..." She needed him specifically, but didn't think he'd respond well to that. "I need to be with someone."
"Then Phury's more what you're looking for."
"No, he's not." She wanted the male in front of her. For all his brutality, she trusted him instinctually.
Zsadist ran his hand over his head. A number of times. Then his chest expanded.
"Don't make me go," she whispered.
When he cursed, she exhaled in relief, figuring that was as close to a yes as she was going to get.
"I have to put some pants on," he muttered.
Bella stepped inside and closed the door, lowering her eyes for only a moment. When she looked up again, he'd turned away and was pulling a pair of black nylon sweats up his thighs.
His back, with its streaks of scars, flexed as he bent over. Seeing the cruel pattern, she was struck with the need to know exactly what he'd been through. All of it. Each and every lash. She'd heard the rumors about him; she wanted his truth.
He'd survived what had been done to him. Maybe so could she.
He turned around. "Have you eaten?"
"Yes, Phury brought me food."
A flicker of expression passed over his face, but it was gone so fast she couldn't read it.
"Are you in pain?"
"Not particularly."
He walked over to the bed and plumped up the pillows. Then he stood to one side, looking down at the floor.
"Get in."
As she came forward she wanted to throw her arms around him, and he stiffened, as though he'd read her mind. God, she knew he didn't like to be touched, had learned that the hard way. But she wanted to get close anyway.
Please look at me, she thought.
She was just about to ask him to when she noticed he had something around his throat.
"My necklace," she breathed. "You're wearing my necklace."
She reached out to it, but he flinched away. With a quick movement he took off the fragile gold chain with its little diamonds and dropped the thing in her hand.
"Here. Take it back."
She looked down. Diamonds by the Yard. By Tiffany. She'd worn it for years... her staple piece of jewelry. The thing had been so much a part of her, she'd always felt naked without it on. Now the fragile links seemed totally foreign to her.
It was warm, she thought, fingering a diamond. Warm from his skin.
"I want you to keep it," she blurted.
"No."
"But - "
"Enough with the talk. Get in or get out of here."
She put the necklace into the pocket of the robe and glanced at him. His eyes were locked on the floor, and as he breathed his nipple rings caught the light.
Look at me, she thought.
Except he didn't, so she got into the bed. When he leaned down she scootched over to make room for him, but all he did was pull the covers over her and then go back to the corner, to the pallet on the floor.
Bella stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. Then she grabbed a pillow, slid out of the bed, and went over to him.
"What are you doing?" His voice was high. Alarmed.
She dropped her pillow and lay down, easing onto the floor beside his big body. His scent was so much stronger now, smelling of evergreen and distilled male power. Seeking the heat of him, she inched closer until her forehead hit the back of his arm. He was so hard, like a stone wall, but he was warm, and her body relaxed. Next to him she was able to feel the weight of her own bones, the hard floor underneath her, the currents in the room as the heat came on. Through his presence, she connected to the world around her again.
More. Closer.
She pushed herself forward until she was flush against the side of him, from breast to heel.
He shifted away with a jerk, moving back until he hit the wall.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, pushing herself up to him again. "I need this from you. My body needs" - you - "something warm."
Abruptly he leaped to his feet.
Oh, no. He was going to kick her out -
"Come on," he said gruffly. "We're going to the bed. I can't stand the idea of you on the floor."
Whoever said you couldn't sell something twice had never met the Omega.