There was another flurry of fists to his back, hard enough to crack a rib.
“Bastard.”
The woods of Wisconsin
Gaius stood hidden in the trees that circled the honky-tonk joint. The wooden structure with a brick chimney that belched smoke toward the star-speckled sky was barely adequate to contain the large crowd of humans that gyrated to the blaring country music. Not that they seemed to notice as they chugged their beer and laughed with increasing frequency.
They were young and arrogant and confident that they were impervious to harm.
Fools.
Not one of them sensed that death hovered just out of sight.
Gaius’s fangs lengthened, the scent of fresh blood overcoming even the stench of brats and sauerkraut. His stomach rumbled. Tasty.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he shouldn’t be hungry. Hadn’t he fed the night before last? Or was it last night?
Time was starting to run together. Something that should have troubled him. Just as his filthy, tangled hair and bloodstained clothing should have troubled him.
Ah well.
With a shake of his head, he moved forward, wincing as the shouts of drunken revelry turned to shrieks of terror.
His pace remained steady. They wouldn’t run. They never ran. At least not anymore.
It was a shame, really.
What was the point of being a predator if you couldn’t chase your prey?
Of course, if he were to be completely honest, he wasn’t certain that he had the energy to play the role of hunter. Since Dara’s return he hadn’t been able to rest. Not just because he had to be on guard to protect her, but fulfilling her constant needs was draining.
Perhaps that explained his incessant hunger. . . .
Climbing the wooden steps, Gaius entered the building and paused to savor the overwhelming emotions that filled the air. In the far corner the twenty humans cowered together in frozen terror, some crying softly while others gave panicked little moans. None, however, made a move to attack him.
Passing by the long, waist-high bar, he reached over to grab the bartender, who had been trying to ram his three-hundred-pound body beneath a shelf. With a strength that revealed his was anything but human, he hauled the struggling man over the bar and with one smooth strike had his teeth buried in the thick neck.
The man screamed, struggling to pull a large knife from its sheath at his waist. Gaius easily knocked the weapon from his hand as he sucked the blood from the bartender’s body, his burning hunger barely assuaged.
Dropping the corpse, he turned his attention toward the huddled mass, pointing his finger toward a slender, dark-haired female.
A tender bud of female temptation.
With a crook of his finger he had her on her feet and walking toward him. Her eyes were blank of emotion beneath his compulsion, but she readily went to her knees and reached for his belt buckle.
Dara wouldn’t mind. She was too ill to satisfy his needs.
And as long as he remembered to take four or five of the shivering mortals back to satisfy her strange cravings, she would be happy enough.
The female wrapped her lips around his aching c**k and Gaius allowed the nagging sense of . . . wrongness . . . to melt away.
Chapter 18
The Ozark Mountains
Nefri perched on the edge of the bed with Santiago seated directly behind her, his legs bracketing hers as he ran a brush through the thick strands of her damp hair.
It was the sort of casually intimate moment that most lovers shared.
Except for her.
She never indulged in love play. It made her feel exposed. Even more exposed than the actual act of sex. After all, sex was a primitive need that could be shared between complete strangers.
This . . . this was true intimacy. It took a level of faith she was never comfortable offering.
Until tonight.
After hours of pleasure, she’d fallen asleep wrapped in Santiago’s arms, only to awaken to his wicked kisses stirring the hunger she had thought sated for the next century.
It wasn’t until she could sense the sun setting that they’d at last made it to the long overdue shower.
Now they were forced to wait for Baine to either reveal his secrets or tell them to go.
Something that should be making Santiago nuts. He wasn’t a patient sort of vampire (understatement of the century). He should be snorting and fuming and threatening to castrate Baine for forcing him to sit around and wait for the dragon’s decision.
Instead he calmly ran the brush through her hair, his prolonged silence as uncharacteristic as his lack of irritation.
“You seem . . .” She searched for a word that wouldn’t rub against his pride. Men were so sensitive. “Pensive.”
She felt him shrug. “I’m a pensive kind of guy.”
She made a sound of disbelief. “You’re the least pensive man I know.”
“I’m not sure if I’ve been insulted or not.”
“No. I like your ability to listen to your instincts.” She shifted so she could study his guarded expression. He was dressed in a gray sweatshirt and jeans that had magically appeared in the armoire along with jeans and a lovely peach cashmere sweater for her. His hair had already been brushed and braided, emphasizing the sharp angles and planes of his achingly handsome face. “And your heart.”
“Like, hmmm?” He smiled with decadent promise, the tips of his fangs visible. “How much do you like me?”
A shiver inched down her spine. Her instant reaction was downright indecent.
“Well enough.”
The dark eyes smoldered with a rising heat. “I think I can make you like me better than well enough.” His head dipped downward, nuzzling at the sensitive spot at the base of her throat.
Her hands lifted to press at his shoulders. She had to stop him now or she’d be lost. “Santiago?”
“Yes?”
“What were you thinking about?”
The tip of one fang scraped down the line of her collarbone. “You want to discuss it now?”
Of course she didn’t. She wanted to close her eyes and drown in the melting heat. But if she allowed herself to be distracted, she knew she’d never discover what was troubling him. “Yes.”
He reluctantly pulled back, regarding her with a brooding gaze. “Why did you leave last time without even saying good-bye?”
Nefri froze. Oh . . . lord. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. If she had, she certainly wouldn’t have pressed him.
Now she turned to stare blindly at the hand-carved dressing table that had been a gift from a grateful Persian king. Or at least the illusion of her table. Anything to avoid his unwavering gaze.