Chapter 19
Layla didn’t mean to get the giggles, but his thank you was delivered so deadpan she just couldn’t help it. Once started, she also couldn’t seem to stop, and was a little afraid she’d hurt herself by the time the laughter bubbled down to stray rivulets.
It was hard to be afraid of a naked vampire in a bathtub.
Of course, trying not to look at anything impolite was an exercise in futility; she couldn’t help but stare at bit at his proudly erect cock; did he just wander around all day with a hard-on?
That seemed uncomfortable as all hell, according to everything Layla had heard.
More to the point, his undercarriage seemed regular human-shaped despite the hazy memory of a different feeling buried in her own body.
Barbed, he’d said—or had she just imagined it?
Thank goodness she was sober at the moment, not high on monster blood.
The memory of inebriation was equal parts disturbing and strangely attractive.
Was she going to be a biter-blood junkie?
That was a question for another time, simply because she didn’t want to think about something so terrifying at the moment.
She had all she could handle quite literally right in front of her, lounging in a brimming bath.
In any case he seemed utterly unself-conscious of nudity, whether his own or someone else’s. Maybe it was being old, maybe it was being a biter, or maybe he’d just had enough time to get over little things like Puritanism.
He predated Protestant prudery, in fact, and the thought provoked another wild cascade of chuckles; when Layla finally managed to get herself back under some kind of control she found Max watching her quizzically, wearing a slightly abashed grin as if he didn’t really get the joke but was happy to be included.
It was a very human expression. Had he loosened up, or was she actually getting used to a bloodsucking monster? She wiped her cheeks, rubbed at her mouth with the back of one hand. Her knees ached a bit, braced against cold tile.
Good Lord, stop cackling. “You’re actually pretty funny,” she said through a few leftover, hiccupping giggles, and immediately realized it sounded dismissive, or worse. Guys didn’t like being laughed at, especially by a woman.
“Good.” Thankfully his expression didn’t alter, except for the smile widening. He was looking more human by the second. “I… it’s been a very long time, since I found any humor in my existence.”
That’s probably the understatement of the year. Layla sobered, chewing gently at her lower lip. Oh, my God. Am I getting Stockholm syndrome’d?
Because at the moment, he really didn’t seem that bad. And that was deeply chilling.
Any amusement was well and truly doused. Silence filled the bathroom, slopping against the walls, broken only by the small plink as a drop of water fell from the high-arched faucet over the tub.
She had to say something, break that dangerous quiet. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”
“I told you I would.” All hint of levity vanished. Vampire Max was back to poker-faced intensity, watching her almost hungrily. “I cannot stay away.”
Oh, hell. “Please don’t leave me locked up again.
” It didn’t matter, since she was in absolutely no position to exert any control here.
He was a biter, for Chrissake. He’d torn through her entire squad in a matter of heartbeats; only Pete was left, and hopefully her fellow hunter had hightailed it back to his hometown in Montana.
“I promised I’d cooperate. And it’s not like I have anywhere else to go. ”
The vampire said nothing. Layla studied his face, carefully; an idea had been in the back of her mind ever since he disappeared, tiptoeing in the darkness like a biter itself.
Steve-o had talked about Army training in case a soldier was captured.
From where Layla was sitting, pretty much anything was permissible if it would get her out from behind the invisible force-field, and she could figure out everything else—including what to do about possibly someday craving human blood—later.
It took more courage than she thought she possessed to straighten, balancing on her knees, and extend an arm.
Her fingertips hovered a half-inch from Max’s shoulder, his deltoid making an almost perfect triangle.
Every scrap of him was well-defined muscle and sinew, nothing extraneous; she felt pretty out of shape by comparison.
She took a deep breath, and gently traced the short, brutal scar running down into the hollow between his shoulder and pectoral muscle.
Whatever had hit there had cut deep, and she repressed a wince at the thought.
The bath had to be hot, but his skin no longer felt feverish despite the steam.
Droplets glowed on his coppery tan; the texture was different than human, poreless and matte, incredibly smooth.
Dirt, blood, and other guck wiped off with a towel he’d folded and swiped very efficiently, as if he’d done it so often thought wasn’t required.
How many times had he gotten home from a fight covered in God-knew-what, to be that practiced? Just like tying his shoes. Sure, he’d erased other biters, but he also had to have snacked on humans. Which should she concentrate on, what half of the equation carried more weight?
The scars weren’t ridged or puckered, just discolored.
Had the terrible glaring one trailing across his stomach shrunk a bit, or were her eyes fooling her?
She touched the edge of another, a jagged slash across the right side of his chest, and irrationally, now she wondered if Pete’s shot at base really had hit him.
Stay on target, Lay. You’re about to do something really smart or incredibly stupid.
The vampire didn’t even appear to be breathing. Eyelids lowered to half-mast, lashes damp, he stared at her like a starving cat presented with a bowl of kibble.
“Don’t lock me up,” she whispered. Let’s see how well I can bargain.
“Please?” Her legs were a bit woozy, but she managed to unfold a bit, her palm skating up to touch his neck.
The ka-thump of his heartbeat continued, nice and steady; she didn’t dare peek at the other half of the tub to see if he was still standing to attention, so to speak.
Her fingers found his nape, sliding on damp skin, and if she hitched herself up and braced her ribs on the rim, she might be able to get close enough.
Amazingly, the vampire obeyed that gentle pressure, leaning toward her, lowering his head. Water rippled.
Her lips touched his. It was goddamn awkward, balancing precariously on a flared cast-iron edge, her toes slipping against damp tile, and she hoped her breath wasn’t horrible. The vague spice in her mouth reminded her of being high on monster blood, and that wasn’t a thought she needed.
I am no good at this sort of thing. Please let it work, though. I’m trying awful hard.
A splash, a tumbling confusion as she overbalanced, and Layla bit back a surprised yell. Water geysered up—she was lifted, a tug at her waistband, and fabric ripped. Falling, a jolt of impact, another massive splash, and good God the entire bathroom was going to be swamped.
That was beside the point, however. Because Max had, with terrifying, casual strength, simply stood up, carrying her along, and stripped away her sweatpants, not to mention clawed the T-shirt to scraps.
Then he simply dropped, controlling the descent with negligent grace, and she was on his lap in a half-full bathtub, clutching those very broad muscled shoulders.
A familiar, very insistent pressure poked between her legs, eager to burrow further.
Layla froze, and so did he.
Her ribs, still feeling the rim’s imprint, heaved as she tried to sort out what the hell.
Her knees were pressed hard against the sides, and if he let go of her waist gravity would help the hard, hot nudge at her opening push deeper.
Layla couldn’t decide if this was a bad or good sign, especially since he didn’t move.
Shit. Oh, goddammit. Did not expect that. There was such a thing as a half-baked plan working entirely too well.
Max was still staring at her, heavy-lidded though thankfully without any wet red pinpricks in his pupils. A humming went through stone-hard muscles, leashed strength just on the edge of exploding.
“I will not leave you here alone again.” A soft, rumbling whisper.
For a moment the words didn’t make sense. Her breath caught, and a strange uncoiling sensation deep in her belly was half terror, half a dark excitement she didn’t care to examine more closely.
Oh, my God, do I actually like this? Layla fought to keep her own eyes wide open, to think clearly. “Good.” A high-pitched, breathy little word. “Everyone leaves me behind. I’m tired of it.”
Was she actually using her body to negotiate with a vampire? She hoped Meemaw wasn’t watching from heaven, but then again, Lay had known she’d never reach the pearly gates. There wasn’t any point in trying; she’d settle for saving her own miserable life and maybe getting out of here.
The spellbound quality was draining from Max’s expression; his gaze sharpened. “I told you I would—”
Don’t let him think. Layla wriggled, hips rocking, and plastered her mouth to his, her tongue sliding between thankfully human-seeming teeth.
An excruciating moment of worrying whether she was just going to embarrass herself—he could shove her away, decide he didn’t like her initiating action, maybe he only got off when she struggled?
She knew that was what a lot of guys preferred, thinking a girl was a slut if she acted like she wanted anything at all.
But no, he seemed interested. At least, one part of him was; she slid, aided by silken hot water and gravity, halfway onto his cock.
Not only that, but he returned the kiss with surprising force, inhaling the short sharp hiss she made at sudden penetration.
So far, so good—she let herself respond, flutter-probing, hoping she was teasing and tempting instead of licking like a Pomeranian.
Kissing was supposed to be a matter of practice, though Suze had averred you either had the knack or you didn’t—
She didn’t want to think about Suzy. And then, maddeningly, his fingers tensed, biting into her middle. All movement halted, both of them locked in stasis once more.
Goddammit. Really going to make me work for it. Okay. She moved, finding a better angle. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, two people crammed into the tub which all of a sudden seemed to have shrunk, and she hoped she wouldn’t get a faucet in the back if things got more active.
Or went badly.
The kiss deepened, a half-familiar numbness filling her mouth.
Layla rocked a little, finding he’d cooperate after all, and so far, her halfass, entirely insane plan was going great.
Especially since her entire body had lit up, nerves crackling with electricity, fresh jolts rising with every movement, and a wicked, delicious pressure found her clit as well.
How the hell is he doing that? But she had to think, she was in a good position—a great one—for negotiation, and there wouldn’t be a better time.
His mouth pursued when she tried to pull away. It took two tries and tipping her chin up before he got the idea, but that could have been a mistake because he turned his attention to nuzzling down her throat. If he was going to bite, she was absolutely defenseless.
Not that it was a big change. “Max,” she whispered. “Max. Please. Listen.”
“Hm?” A sleepy, inquisitive noise. His hands loosened another fraction; she sank further, an exquisite stretching. “Leila.” Drawing out her name, tasting it.
More than once, Layla had been forgotten in a corner while men discussed how bitches used sex to get what they wanted, a certain kind of male laughter hur-hurring around the room.
She was going to find out if it actually worked. “I’m cooperating,” she gasped. “See?”
“Leila…” An honest-to-gosh groan. His movements were a lot less graceful now; he was clearly trying to find her rhythm though she could keep just ahead of his attempts, and a heady sense of power rose with the pleasure, filling her skull.
She could keep him off-balance, if only for a little while. It was a wonderful development, a great change, and an absolutely terrifying risk. “Promise me,” she cooed. Am I really doing this? Jesus. “Promise you won’t leave me behind.”
The growl started, vibrating in his chest. Strangely, the sound wasn’t entirely frightening, if only because she had so much else to worry about before her body took over and everything else was pushed to the sidelines. Oh yes, now she understood how this was power, and could be exercised.
It might be the only currency, the only control she had. Fine, she’d use it, for as long as possible.
He made some sort of answer, but the words were strange and harsh, a foreign language. Clearly nothing her few years of high-school Spanish could untangle; Layla pushed at his shoulders, her back arching, still keeping just barely ahead of his attempts to work deeper, to overwhelm.
Then his fangs drove into her throat.