Hungers of the Heart Page 16

  Faith couldn’t stand the haunted look on his face. How could she have told herself he was just like Ar­mand? Had Armand ever shown a single sign of re­morse for the pain he’d caused?

  Not knowing what she could do to ease his spirit, she still found she longed to do so. She rose from her chair and moved to stand behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders and giving the tightened mus­cles there a firm squeeze. She meant to say some­thing clever and comforting, but the moment she touched him, words fled.

  His body felt warm under her hands, and the tight-fitting T-shirt let her feel the ripple of his muscles. She gave another exploratory squeeze, looking down at his face from above, and saw his eyes drift shut as he sucked in a hissing breath. She didn’t think he meant it as a protest.

  Her hands slid up from his shoulders to his neck, finding more tightened muscles and, more impor­tantly, bare skin. She shivered at the feel of him un­der her fingers, then forgot her original intention to soothe him and instead bent over to smooth her hands down the planes of his chest.

  The movement brought her face closer to his, and she inhaled his scent as her cheek brushed against his hair.

  “Be careful,” he whispered as her hands drifted lower, reaching the bottom of his sternum. “You know how little self-control I have just now.”

  She inhaled again, drawing in his warm, spic arousing scent. A little voice inside her tried to n mind her why she’d come here in the first place was drowned out by the tide of desire. Instead of answering him, she nuzzled his ear, her fangs descending as her hands curled in his T-shirt to untuck it from his trousers. When her hands found the warm skin of his abdomen underneath, they both groaned.

  “Last warning,” he breathed in a hot whisper. hands clutched the arms of his chair hard enough turn the knuckles white, and as Faith continued to caress him, she couldn’t help noticing the bulge strained against the zipper of his pants.

  She really should stop, she thought as she hesitated for a moment. She’d come here to propose a plan to free Lily from Armand, and sex would nothing but an unnecessary distraction.

  Her eyes fastened on the bulge that stretched the black leather to its limits, and desire chased the last of her common sense away. Instead of stopping, she teased his earlobe with a flick of her tongue.

  Before she’d had a chance to register the taste of his skin on her tongue, he’d tilted his head back and captured her mouth with his. The hands that had clutched the chair arms now fastened onto her, hold­ing her in place while his tongue stabbed into her mouth. A moan escaped her, despite the awkward­ness of the position.

  Drake released her mouth but grabbed her arm and pulled her around to the front of the chair. She leaned eagerly into another kiss, then decided she wanted even more contact. There was just enough room on the seat for her to climb on and straddle his lap. His hands skimmed down her back then fastened on her bottom, holding her securely in place while his mouth ravaged hers.

  Faith felt like she was drowning in pleasure. His touches were rougher, needier than Armand’s, and yet there was no denying how perfectly they stoked her desire. Desire that came from within, not as an artificial construct of someone else’s will.

  Beneath her, Drake’s erection continued to swell, a hardened core of heat that pressed into her and showed her just how thoroughly her desire was re­turned.

  Suddenly, his hands clamped down harder on her bottom and he surged to his feet. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms and legs around him. Not breaking the kiss for an instant, he carried her to his bed and laid her down, his body coming to rest on top of hers.

  Faith kept her legs wrapped around him, unwilling to let go, as her hands raked up and down his back. She tugged on his T-shirt, wishing there was some, way to get it off him without his mouth leaving hers.

  With a low growl, Drake pulled away from the kiss. Before she had a chance to protest, he’d practi­cally torn the T-shirt off his body in his haste. His chest was as mouthwatering as she remembered, and she gave in to her desire to taste it. Sitting up just enough, she flicked her tongue over one hardened nipple. His hiss of pleasure emboldened her, and she did it again.

  Drake’s eyes were closed as he savored her licks and caresses, but his hands unerringly found the but­tons on her blouse. His fingers were clumsy as he tried to slip the buttons free.

  “Tear it,” she murmured with a wanton laugh, amazed at her own boldness and lack of inhibition.

  He didn’t need to be told twice. Buttons flew every which way, and then his hands were on her bare skin and it was all she could do to string together two co­herent thoughts in a row. She forgot to continue her sensual assault on his chest and merely lay back an felt.

  His hands were warm and sure, his touch surprisingly gentle in light of his rampant need. His fingers traced the lacy edges of her bra, causing her back arch and her breath to catch in her throat. She wanted a firmer touch, but Drake didn’t give it to her, contin­uing to tease as she writhed. When she reached for his hand to guide it to where she wanted it, he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and pinned it to the bed beside her. She opened her eyes in surprise. His feral grin, showing lots of fang, made her shiver deep inside.

  “There will be no rushing things,” he scolded.

  She made a moue of discontent. Laughing, Drake leaned over and kissed the expression away, making her forget her complaints. His fingers resumed their teasing dance.

  After what seemed like forever, Drake finally re­lented and slid the lace of her bra away from her nipple. The light caress of his thumb set fire to her senses. She instantly wanted more.

  This time, he gave her what she wanted. His kisses trailed down her throat, tasting and nipping all the way down until his lips brushed the top of one breast. He’d let go of her pinned wrist, so she reached up to spear her fingers through his hair and urge him on. But by now, he needed no urging.

  When his mouth closed over her nipple and he gave a gentle draw, Faith thought her heart was about to explode. The pleasure was overwhelming, and yet somehow. . . pure. Her mind was clear, her thoughts her own, and all she could think of was pressing closer to his heat.

  Trailing her hands down his ribs as he continued to torment her, she finally met the waistband of his pants. She slipped her hands between their bodies and pried at his belt buckle. He raised up enough to give her room to maneuver, but didn’t otherwise help. Just as she felt like screaming from impatience, the buckle finally loosened and she went to work on the button and then the zipper. She nearly swallowed her tongue when she managed to coax the zipper down and found he wasn’t wearing anything beneath those pants.

  Drake gave a heartfelt moan when her fingers grasped him. She reveled in the velvety smoothness of his taut skin, stroking him from tip to base. His mouth left her breast, and she was enjoying the feel of him in her hands enough not to protest.

  Eyes night-dark with desire, he unfastened her pants in record time, then started tugging them down. She hated to let go of him, but if she didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to get her pants off, and that was unacceptable. His wicked grin suggested he read her thoughts.

  With a sigh, she released him, and he dragged her pants and panties down her legs. She took the oppor­tunity to shuck the remains of her shirt and her bra. Then she was naked, her whole body flushed with heat and yearning as Drake sat back on his heels, his erection jutting out of his pants as his eyes took a leisurely tour of her body. She felt his gaze like a physical touch, but she wanted—no, needed—more. She arched her back temptingly, and that was all it took to make him see things her way.

  Moving considerably faster now, Drake peeled away his pants, then climbed up her body like a predatory cat, skin rubbing against skin the whole way. She spread her legs eagerly and slid her arms around his neck as soon as he was within reach.

  His muscles quivered under her hands, his skin dewed with sweat. She felt his strain as his erection nudged her entrance and he tried to ease his way in. But whether beca
use his desire was too strong or be­cause his hunger overwhelmed his control, he soon abandoned the effort and plunged into her with a sin­gle hard thrust.

  An incoherent cry rose in Faith’s throat. For half a second, Drake looked indecisive, like he thought he might have hurt her. But one look at her eyes must have told him just what that cry meant. His mouth came down on hers, his tongue tasting her as his hips began to thrust.

  Fingers digging into his shoulders as she tried to absorb everything he gave her, Faith wrapped her legs around him and gave in to the pleasure. She sucked eagerly on his tongue, ran her hands over his sweat-dewed skin, inhaled the mingled scents of sex and Drake. Within seconds, she was on the brink of orgasm, but she held on desperately, not wanting it to be over yet.

  His hips pumped ever more frantically, his breath wheezing in and out of his lungs. Faith knew it wasn’t from. exertion, but from the same effort she was making to hold off climax, to make it last.

  Hard though she fought, the pleasure was too in­tense, rising steadily from inside her until she couldn’t contain it anymore. And once she cried out in re­lease, she burst through the last of Drake’s self-restraint. His whole body stiffened, and his moan was pleasure, and release, and relief, all rolled into one.

  12

  USUALLY, A GOOD hunt would restore Armand’s mood as much as good brandy used to in his mortal days. But tonight’s hunt had failed to erase even the tiniest bit of the stress and strain. He had brought the tranquilizer gun in hopes that Gabriel would make an appearance and try to stop the hunt. If Armand could just make some progress...

  Instead, he returned to the house empty-handed. Two of his vampires were dead. Four of his mortals were dead. And he had no leads on the whereabouts of either Gabriel or Brigitte. His heart quailed at the idea of telling all this to La Vieilie, but he had no choice but to make his report.

  The phone call was as hellish as he’d expected. La Vieille had ranted at him, her fury prickling his skin like needles as he tried to pretend he still felt hopeful of success.

  Afterward, he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling strangely numb. Perhaps this had been lost cause from the very beginning.

  Armand grunted in exasperation. This was not the kind of battle one could give up on. Had h given up on the field of Agincourt? The forces c the French army had been overwhelming; the En­glish had been exhausted, bedraggled, and vastly outnumbered. But when victory had turned first t defeat, then to bloody rout, Armand had never once considered -the possibility of fleeing. When he saw Charles fall from his horse, Armand had cut a swath through the enemy to save his friend’s life, then held off three men while giving Charles the chance to run.

  He’d never blamed Charles for running, even though Armand had taken a killing blow himself trying to defend his escape. Charles had been wounded, his horse and sword lost. There would have been nothing he could have done except die at his friend’s side, making Armand’s gesture futile.

  Armand had been willing to stand his ground in that blood-soaked, muddy field, and he would stand his ground now. And, dammit, he was going to win.

  Desperate for some relief from his own thoughts, Armand was out of bed and halfway down the hall before a sweep with his psychic senses told him Faith wasn’t in her room tonight. Grinding his teeth, he turned to look behind him, eyes focused on the room at the other end of the hail. The room where Faith lay in the anus of a Killer.

  While Armand had pushed her into Drake’s arms For his own purposes, he was not a total fool. He knew she went willingly to Drake’s bed when she would only come to his under the influence of glam­our.

  Jealousy, sharp and bitter, flooded his senses. Why should she prefer Drake? As Armand had re­minded her earlier, the man was a Killer, and when he was as old as Armand, he would most likely have killed the same number of people. So why did she somehow judge him the lesser of two evils? Why didn’t she see how much Armand had done for her, and for Lily, in the years she had served him? He’d protected them both—she had to know that—when he had no selfish reason to do so. He’d never forced her to kill, never forced her to embrace her true na­ture and make herself a useful part of his entourage. Was it so unreasonable of him to expect her to be grateful?

  Knowing he was acting like a besotted fool, he nonetheless crept down the hall, closer and closer to that closed door. His nostrils flared as he picked up the ever-so-faint scent of sex. Unexpected pain stabbed through his chest, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to burst through the door and kill the man who dared to touch her. -

  Still fighting against those primitive urges, he stood before the door and seethed. Until he heard the faint murmur of voices within. Then he leaned f ward and closed his eyes, listening to what he mc definitely did not want to hear.

  ***

  THOUGH DAYLIGHT WAS still hours away, Drake found himself dozing, his body deliciously sated, chest against Faith’s back., his arms around her as drank in her warmth. He was far more relaxed than he’d been ever since the Seigneur had arrived on doorstep—perhaps since much longer ago than that—and he wished he could bask in the afterglow forever. He didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want to worry or plan. He inhaled Faith’s womanly scent, spiced with the musk of their lovemaking, and felt his lips curve in a contented smile.

  He was starting to drift off to sleep again when Faith stirred against him, the delicious friction skin against skin waking his body and his mind.

  “May I ask you a personal question?” she asked sounding almost as sleepy as he felt.

  He kissed a line from just below her ear all the down to her shoulder, and she shuddered with pleasure.

  “I take it that’s a no?” she asked breathlessly.

  He chuckled and planted another kiss on the curve of her neck. “Do I get a reward for answering?”

  She spun in his arms until she faced him. Her cheeks were flushed with color, her eyes wide and dark, her expression was grave despite her obvious arousal. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  He brushed the back of his hand over the softness of her cheek, her presence warming him from the in­side out. “What do you want to know?”

  She bit her lip anxiously. “How did you become a vampire?”

  Drake stared at Faith’s upturned face and for the first time in his life felt tempted to answer that ques­tion. Eli had only asked him about his transition once and had gracefully accepted Drake’s unwillingness to answer. Drake couldn’t count how many Guardians mad asked him, and never had he been willing to tell them anything. It was almost as if by not talking about it, he could maintain the illusion in his mind that it had never happened.

  “Is it really that terrible?” Faith asked, a frown puckering her brow.

  He smoothed the frown away with his thumb. The temptation to talk didn’t go away.

  “It’s not that it’s so terrible. It’s just that . . . I hate to talk about the man I once was.” But he realized he was going to do it anyway.

  “My mother was a socialite in New York. She and some of her friends visited Five Points, which was one of the most dangerous and reviled neighbor­hoods anywhere, on some kind of charitable mis­sion, and she and my father struck up a flirtation. My father was a charming Irishman, and my mother was dreadfully naïve.

  “I was the result of their dalliance, but of course she wasn’t about to many a man like my father. Not that I think he’d have, married her, either—he was a hard-hearted gangster who wasn’t exactly known for his honor.

  “Her family tried to marry her off to avoid dis­grace, but things just didn’t work out. There was to much gossip, too many people who knew who the father of her baby was.

  “When I was ten, my mother finally met a who could overlook her past. He married her, and made a cursory effort to be a stepfather to me, but he was one of those people who believed that blue-bloods were inherently better than everyone else. That I was some kind of lesser being because of who my father was. So whe
n I got caught shoplifting a piece of candy on a dare from my friends, my stepfa­ther felt sure that my true breeding was shining through. He threatened to leave my mother if she didn’t get rid of me. So she handed me off to my fa­ther in Five Points, and I never saw her again.”

  Faith made a little cry of distress, and Drake could see the pity in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her—he pitied his younger self, too.

  “My father was married by then, and had three other sons. He thought I was soft and spoiled, my half-brothers took their cues from him. It was mutual hatred from the first time we all met.”

  Still hating the memories, he told Faith how he’ molded himself to the culture of Five Points, how he’d toughened himself, hardened his heart, loci out everything his mother had taught him.

  “To carve out my place, I didn’t just have to be mean and tough as everyone else. I had to be meaner and tougher.” He grimaced. “And I was. By the time I was eighteen, it was almost as if my time with my mother had never existed. I’d erased it from my mind.” Or at least locked it in a dark closet.

  “My father was working himself up in the ranks of his gang, and when I was twenty-five, he finally scratched and clawed his way to the top. I was his en­forcer, the guy he sent to beat the crap out of anyone who crossed him?’ He closed his eyes to avoid seeing Faith’s face. “I even killed for him. These weren’t in­nocents I was killing by any stretch of the imagina­tion. But it really bothers me now to remember how little it bothered me then.”

  “If you’d let the killing bother you then,” Faith said, “you’d have opened the floodgates to let every­thing else bother you, too.”

  He opened his eyes and was surprised to see no censure on her face. She must have seen his surprise, for she gave him a sympathetic smile.

  “Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to shut yourself off from your feelings to protect your san­ity? How do you think I managed to survive six years with Armand?”