Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ANDROS
Every time she’s near, her blood calls to me. It has ever since we met. But unlike before, the feral need to hunt her, drink from her, is gone. All that’s left after is a deep yearning for a taste, a sip, as I drive my cock into her over and over until she comes.
Damn my vampire hearing.
The last two nights have been pure torture. Moans drift up the stairs, followed by whispered pleas for more. She might as well be right next to me.
Gritting my teeth, I carefully mark the page I’m reading and toss my phone onto the nightstand. AI law and its complexities is typically a fascinating read, but tonight it holds zero appeal.
Merde. If only Teague hadn’t given me that file on her.
Reading about her past twisted something inside me I long thought dead, squeezed it until I could almost swear the damn thing was beating for her.
With every thud, it whispered to me. Made me hope that maybe, because of her past, she wouldn’t look at me like the monster I am.
That alone is a temptation I’m not sure I can resist. Yet it’s not what held me in its thrall.
It was the juxtaposition between us. Her refusal to stop fighting or using the gift that led to him burning her. Instead, she adapted. Carved out an existence and kept going. Hurdle after hurdle, she lived.
After moving back home on Sunday, I spent most of Monday ignoring the work piling up on my desk to search for every scrap of information I could find on her.
Doctor’s notes documenting her long road to recovery.
The countless surgeries and hospital stays.
Therapy. Near isolation, with her mother her only visitor.
Next, I moved on to the police reports. On the original incident.
The statements from her stepfather and mother.
Police speculation that it was likely an accident until her mother dropped off a copy of the video from the camera on the house, which conveniently disappeared weeks before the trial. Good thing her lawyer had copies.
Legal transcripts from the trial. The investigation into the death of her roommate. Hank’s prison records. Bank statements recording the amount of money he’s spent trying to find her.
With my contacts, nothing was out of my reach. All night I read, obsessed with my need to know all the details and the answer to my questions. How did she find the strength to heal and recover? To love and lose again and again? To get up after every hit? To dare to dream of more?
Teague swallows her cries as she reaches her peak, and for the first time in all my existence, I want something more than this existence, and I don’t know how to fucking cope with it.
I reach into my nightstand and pull out her sketch.
This isn’t a photo taken in a singular moment in time.
A fake glimpse into someone’s life. It’s how she sees me.
Stern and serious. Intelligent and focused.
Yet, there’s a softness in the lines of my lips and the thickness of my hair.
And my eyes, the same ones I’ve looked at in the mirror for centuries and thought cold and dead, blaze with emotion in her sketch.
I hate it. And yet, I can’t stop staring at the damn thing, wondering what else she sees when she looks at me.
Carefully storing it back in the drawer, I pick up my phone.
“You do realize it’s three o’clock in the morning?” Ronan drawls when he answers.
“Not like you’re sleeping,” I mock, knowing he avoids sleep like the plague. Too many nightmares. “Did you find Kian?”
“Not yet. Although we found a few new leads. And a name. I sent the info over to Macklin.”
“He’s running a personal errand. Probably hasn’t read it yet. What did you find?”
“Organization of fanatics. Call themselves the Human Rights Coalition, or HRC for short. Their only interest is eradicating supernaturals.”
Something clicks in the back of my mind, and I search my photographic memory for the information.
“Still there?”
“Give me a minute.”
He chuckles. “Take all the time you need.”
There. “Hank Coalfield, Charli’s mentally deranged but very wealthy stepfather, writes checks to HRC every month. He has since she was thirteen, which coincidentally is the year he found out she was a witch.”
He curses. “Shoot me the info. I’ll look into him.”
“Macklin’s meeting with Kinji for that very same reason. Give him a call.”
“Will do.”
Silence.
“Looking for answers or an escape?” he probes, proving he knows me well.
“Answers.” Very few vampires have a mate, nor do we know much about them, but Ronan served as an advisor to the vampire king and his mate for a couple hundred years.
There’s a beat of silence. “Interesting. What do you want to know?”
“Once bonded, will she be able to see my memories? Feel my emotions? Hear me?”
“Memories, yes. Emotions, maybe. It varies between mates. Telepathy, no. But you’ll know her exact location at all times,” he says, then stops for a second. And I know what he’s going to ask. “Have you started craving her yet?”
I swallow, not wanting to admit it out loud. “Can I reject her?”
He sighs. “Andros, you’re your own worst enemy. The more you resist, the worse it will be. No, you can’t reject her, and the fact that you’re asking tells me you don’t want to either.”
“Being with her. Drinking her blood. It won’t force me to bond, right?” I persist, needing to know if there’s a way to circumvent that final act.
“You’re a bloody fool,” Ronan says with a fierceness I didn’t expect.
“Very few vampires are lucky enough to find their mates. To live a lifetime with their other half. Instead, we exist with few emotions except for an increasing apathy toward anything beyond the physical need for blood and a good fuck.” He pauses to collect himself.
“The cravings for her and her blood will get worse, but you can give in without having to bond. It will come at a cost, though.”
“Understood. Thanks, Ronan,” I tell him, wondering what the toll will be. “I know you have your hands busy, running down leads. Why don’t I look into the HRC?”
“Let me know what you find and tell Macklin to give me a call when he gets back,” he says, hanging up, his daily quota of words well past its limit.
There’s a soft click in the hall downstairs, but instead of Teague’s heavier tread, it’s lighter. I’m moving before I can register the thought, finding her in the kitchen, pouring water into a glass.
Flushed cheeks and swollen pink lips with her blond hair tumbling down her back in wild curls, she looks so sweet; it pisses me off.
She’s wearing one of Teague’s black T-shirts and little else.
Her bare legs gleam in the moonlight. I grind my teeth.
She lifts the glass and takes a long drink, and the image of her mouth on my neck, taking a long pull of my blood—No. Not going there.
She finishes and places the glass in the sink. Before she can turn around, I’m behind her, clamping a hand on her mouth.
“Don’t scream,” I demand, barely feeling the elbow she shoves into my stomach. “Violent little thing, aren’t you? Is that any way to treat your mate?”
Her answer is a muffled tirade that has me spinning her around for a glimpse of her fury and a taste of her lips. Hearing her come the last two nights…I can’t think for wanting a taste of her.
She shudders, and after only a little hesitation, opens her mouth.
And I take full advantage, devouring her lips in a hard, unrelenting kiss.
Punishment for every torturous sound she’s made over the last two nights.
She gasps and grips my shirt, and I inhale sharply, then pull her hands behind her back, holding them with one of mine.
The last thing I need is the past rearing its ugly head.
The whooshing sound of her blood moving through her veins is a siren, calling my name, and I grip the back of her hair, tugging her head back. Neck exposed, I leave her clinging lips and skim the column of her throat, placing a kiss at the exact point I want to sink my teeth into. Her heart races.
“Andros, what are you doing? You don’t want this. Us.”
“From the moment the first drop of your blood landed on my tongue, I can barely think of anything but you, and it’s driving me crazy,” I admit, my voice harsh and pissed off. I lick her jugular, and her already-racing heart jumps.
“Me or my blood?” she asks, raising her head to stare into my eyes.
“Both,” I growl. “I want to sink my teeth into you while I fuck you. Hear those pretty little cries of yours…for me as you strangle my cock.” I lick that tantalizing spot again. “Drink your sweet blood.” Her body pulses with need, and I reach between us.
“Stop,” she orders, tugging on her hands until I release them. “You’re rejecting me, remember?” Her words are sharp and full of hurt.
“I don’t want a mate,” I snarl, refusing to surrender. I press my body against hers. “But I want you, crave you. Don’t pretend you don’t feel the same.”
Her whole body freezes, and she gives me an incredulous look. “It’s not enough. I deserve more.”
She straightens her shoulders and walks away like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Knowing Teague’s going to smell her arousal and slide into the wetness I created makes me want to roar with fury.
Stalking out of the penthouse, I hit the streets, walking until the bright rays of dawn streak across the sky.
Returning, I’m in and out in five minutes.
Already behind on work this week, I could use the extra hours to get caught up.
Teague left all the revisions for the contract on my desk, and I update the final version, sending it across to the buyers.
By noon, I’m caught up enough to put work aside and start digging into the HRC.
I snort. One little Google search and their website pops up, full of pretty pictures of wide-open fields, kids playing, and the obligatory statement.
They tout themselves as a non-profit charity dedicated to helping preserve the rights of every human on earth against the unseen dangers that threaten their very existence.
Lucky for me, they also have a board member page with photos and names of people from all races and color.
And look at that. Hank Coalfield sits on the board.
I stare at the well-dressed man in his late forties with a smile full of perfect white teeth and imagine ripping his throat out with my bare hands. Ironic how evil can look so unassuming.
Moving on to the founding family and the current representative, Lionel Carter. Family arrived on the Mayflower and built an American empire. Every article is glowing. Touting their philanthropy and the importance of giving back to society.
Surprisingly, the HRC was established in the late 1600s.
Run in with a supe, maybe? The wealthy have always known there were supernaturals in this world.
Look at my sire. Aristocratic. Greedy for eternal life.
Paid an obscene amount to have a vampire turn him and me, of course.
The masses rarely know what’s truly going on. Not even in this age of information.
Now that the surface has been scratched, I dig in deeper, starting with the financials. If you ever want to know what an organization deems important, find out what they spend their money on.
Hours later, I crack my neck and pick up my cell. “I found seven facilities so far. Sending the list to you now.”
Silence, then Ronan replies. “We checked the two in Vegas. One was abandoned. Mavros said they moved him shortly after Raine broke into the facility. We cleared out the second one but only found Mavros and Ramiro. I’ll start looking into the other five.”
Night falls, and I remain at my desk, hunting down every dollar spent.
Macklin sends a text to let us all know he’s on his way back with news.