Chapter 30
Nyx
Cain’s energy battered at the barrier I’d thrown up between us. Edgy, controlled and a little dark, like the man himself. It sang to me like a siren, a whirlpool of instinct and temptation dragging at my chest.
I tensed, fingernails biting into the couch’s cotton back, resisting with everything I had.
And then, just like that, the edgy, magnetic pressure cut off.
Cain scraped a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up like a baby chick’s, the vulnerability in his face squeezing my heart. “I should go.”
“Yes,” I whispered, unable to say anything else without breaking, giving in.
And I couldn’t—for his sake.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Right, well...”
Neither of us moved. We just stood there staring at each other, like the gods had pressed pause on the world.
The ironic thing was, I trusted him now, believed this thing was real for both of us. That brief connection had shown me how much I meant to him. I knew him now in a way I hadn’t before. His hungers, his truths, even the lies he carried like scars.
And Sweet Luna, the bond had been beautiful, a shimmer of color and need stretching between us.
Every part of me ached to accept him as my mate, to be claimed, and claim him in turn. It felt like I’d stomped on not just his heart, but my own.
But he couldn’t know that. Not until Perla was safe.
Because if our plan to rescue her failed, I had a backup. I’d lie—tell Nazaire I’d already mated with Cain—and then offer myself in trade for Perla. He’d jump at it because if he had Cain’s mate, he had Cain, too. The lie would buy the Maritime vampires time to get her out.
So no—I couldn’t accept Cain’s mate bond tonight. If something went wrong and I ended in my final grave, I’d take him down with me.
If he hadn’t shut down so fast, he might’ve figured out what I planned. But he’d curled into himself like a wounded animal.
Because of me.
I licked my lips.
I’d hurt Cain. My lethal, iron-willed vampire—he had a heart, and it could be wounded.
But I’d known that, hadn’t I? I wouldn’t have fallen for him otherwise. I’d seen how he was with his friends, how he’d do anything for them and their mates.
The heaviness of what I’d done—with what I might have to do—pressed against my chest, my throat. I could hardly breathe.
But I couldn’t live with myself if I stood by and let Nazaire torture Perla.
Cain moved first. “Tomorrow night, then,” he said and headed for the door.
My fingers unclenched from the soft cotton. “Stay,” I said hoarsely.
He turned back. “What?”
I cleared my throat, knowing I should let him leave. But I couldn’t, not like this. “Stay. Please.”
His brow furrowed. “What about needing time?”
“Remember that story I told you last night?” I slipped around the couch. “About the fae prince?”
“Yeah. But—”
“Shh.” I stopped in front of him.
His shoulders pulled into a stiff line, but he didn’t move or speak, just watched me with hot blue eyes.
Tonight, instead of his usual black and white, he wore all black—pants, dress shirt, both cut to show off his hard-muscled frame. I undid his top button. “You know that prince was really you.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Was he?”
“Oh, yeah.” I slipped open the second button.
“So here’s what we’re going to do. Pretend we’re in the story, and the page just turned.
” I spread his shirt apart and touched my lips to his collarbone, breathing him in.
“It’s a blank page. No past, no future. Just you and me writing whatever we want.
” I stroked my fingertips over his chest, lightly furred with dark blond hair.
His hands came to my hips. His jaw clenched like he was in pain. “What d’you want from me?”
“This.” I licked at his mouth, nipped his full lower lip. “Stranger.”
“Fuck.” His voice was tight, but his fingers dug into my hips, keeping me where I was.
“A blank page,” I murmured and moved against him, slow and sensuous, dragging my breasts over his chest. “Like we just met tonight.”
A beat passed. Then he made a low, at-the-end-of-his-rope sound and hauled me up against him. One hand cupped my chin, taking control, and his mouth descended on mine in a take-no-prisoners kiss.
I sucked his tongue deeper, drinking in his taste—heat and whiskey and Cain. I couldn’t get close enough. The thin barrier of our clothing was an irritation.
I brought a leg up, twining it around his thigh, wanting him thick and hot against my center. Needing the hard muscles of his pecs to soothe my aching breasts. Even the belt buckle against my stomach felt necessary.
It had hurt these past few nights, to keep him at arm’s length. To tell myself I hated him, knowing it was a lie, told to make myself feel better.
When he lifted his head, his irises were a thin silver rim around dark, enlarged pupils. “If this is some kind of trick, I swear I’ll spank you.”
“No trick, I promise.”
His gaze moved between my eyes, assessing my truthfulness.
I pressed closer, running my fingers down one angular cheek, lightly scratching the stubble.
“Don’t make me beg,” I said against his ear.
“Or maybe you should—make me beg, that is. Maybe you should punish me. I did try to meet with your uncle, after all. That was very bad of me.” I bit down on his earlobe.
“Fuck.” He sounded tortured. “Damn you, Nyx. I can’t—I can’t tell you no.”
Longer fingers wrapped around my nape. His other hand stroked down my back in a firm caress. He palmed my ass, urging me up against his erection.
Triumph surged up in me, along with an awed sort of humbleness. That this powerful, controlled male had a weakness—me.
He saw my lips twitch in an I-win smile, and slapped my bottom. “Just remember who’s in charge.”
My sex constricted. “You are,” I said immediately.
That elicited a rueful laugh. He smacked me again, harder.
“I haven’t been in control,” he said, “since the night we met. I think about this—about you—all the time. It’s eating me alive, how much I need you.”
“Oh.” I swallowed broken bits of glass, all pretense that we were strangers, writing on a blank page, falling away.
He’d opened himself to me, let himself be vulnerable, and I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t tell him I loved him, that I’d be honored to accept his bond.
But I could touch him, show him how special he was, how perfect.
I finished unbuttoning his shirt and tugged the fabric from the waistband of his pants. He took over, stripping it off in one fluid motion and tossing it on the couch.
My breath snagged. He was so damn beautiful, every line of him honed and lean, from his sculpted shoulders to his narrow hips. A man who could fuck you into a stupor—or hunt you down.
The inky shark twisted around the side of his neck, its teeth bared, menace in a single, fluid shape. I traced its outline with a fingertip, then spread my hands across his shoulders, loving the solid strength beneath my palms.
When I brushed my thumbs over his nipples, the sound he gave—half groan, half growl—made my entire body clench in response.
I needed to get closer, to touch him skin-to-skin.
I stepped back and tugged off my sweater and T-shirt, leaving me in the red satin bra that had arrived yesterday in a chic black box along with matching panties.
“Sweet Lilith.” His gaze dropped to my breasts and the silky red material cupping them. “I knew that bra would look fucking perfect on you.”
I reached for him, but he caught my hands, pressing a kiss to each palm—a tantalizing promise—before lowering to his knees for the second time that night.
This time, though, he wasn’t asking for anything. He was there to take.
A muscular arm looped around my waist, pulling me toward him and a little off-balance so that I had to grip his shoulders to stay on my feet. “I have to taste you,” he muttered.
He pressed a kiss to my sternum, then closed his teeth on the thin satin, biting first one nipple, then the other, just hard enough.
White-hot bolts of lightning shot down my spine. I whimpered and twisted against him.
He tightened his grip, keeping me still. He took his time, nuzzling, biting, licking, sucking—slow and deliberate, until I was close to breaking.
“Cain,” I said. “I need—”
He lifted his head. “Close your eyes.”
I obeyed, head tipped back, body tense with anticipation. He swept an arm beneath my knees, the other cradling my shoulders. I let out a startled chuckle as he carried me into the bedroom.
He set me down next to the four-poster and lowered his brow, mock stern. “What, you don’t think I can be romantic?”
A voice command and lights glowed on around the bed’s teak canopy, filtering through the draped gauze like stars just before dawn. A second command, and music spilled into the room, low and lush, the kind made for slow dancing and promises.
I touched his cheek. “Very romantic.”
He framed my face in his hands and kissed me with a laser-like focus, tilting my head just so, moving his mouth deliberately, drawing me deeper until I was clutching his shoulders, every nerve alive, my knees turned to water.
He removed my bra, tossing it at a nearby chair, then said, “You deserve romance.” His palm glided up my ribcage to close over my breast. A calloused thumb brushed over the nipple, the roughness good…necessary. “I should’ve given you more. I’ll work on that.”
I shook my head. “You don’t have to. I—the things we’ve done—I would think about them for weeks after. Wake up, touching myself.”
His cheek creased. “Good,” he said. “I’m glad you suffered as much as me.”
He’d suffered?
The thrill that gave me merged into pleasure as he kissed his way from my lips to my throat, sucking on the sensitive spot where my shoulder met my neck, his mouth hot and wet.
I caught his head, holding him to me. Almost afraid I was still in the cell, dreaming this—the bed and the lights and the music; Cain; the careful way he was touching me…romancing me.
“More?” he asked against my skin.