CHAPTER
Seven

Ten more minutes to heaven,” Gabrielle said, peering into her opened oven and letting the rich aroma of homemade baked manicotti waft into the kitchen of her apartment.

She closed the windowed door, reset the digital timer, then poured herself another glass of red wine and carried it with her into the living room. An old Sarah McLachlan CD was playing softly on the sound system. At a few minutes past seven in the evening, Gabrielle was finally beginning to unwind from her little morning adventure at the abandoned asylum. She had gotten a couple of decent shots that might amount to something, but best of all, she had managed to escape the scary-looking bruiser who’d apparently been running security detail for the place.

That alone was worth celebrating.

Gabrielle folded herself into the cushioned corner of her sofa, her skin warm beneath dove-gray yoga pants and a pink, long-sleeved tee-shirt. Her hair was still damp from her recent bath, loose tendrils slipping out of the careless ponytail fixed haphazardly at the nape of her neck. Freshly scrubbed and chilling out at last, she was more than glad to settle in for the night and enjoy her solitude.

So when the doorbell rang not a minute later, she cursed under her breath and considered ignoring the unwanted intrusion. It rang a second time, insistent, followed by a sharp rap delivered by a rather powerful hand that didn’t sound like it was going to take no for an answer.

“Gabrielle.”

She was already on her feet and cautiously walking halfway to the door when she heard a voice she recognized at once. She shouldn’t know it with such certainty, but she did. Lucan Thorne’s deep baritone came through the door and into her bones like a sound she’d heard a thousand times before, soothing her even as it kick-started her pulse into a sudden flutter of anticipation.

Surprised, more pleased than she wanted to admit, Gabrielle unfastened the multiple locks and opened the door to him.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Gabrielle.”

He greeted her with an unsettling familiarity, his eyes intense beneath the dark slashes of his brows. That piercing gaze traveled a slow, downward path, from the top of her mussed head, to the silk-screened peace sign stretched across her braless chest, to the bare toes peeking out from the flared legs of her low-slung pants.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone.” She said it as an excuse for her appearance, but Thorne didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as his attention came back to her face, Gabrielle felt a sudden flush of heat fill her cheeks for the way he was looking at her.

Like he wanted to devour her where she stood.

“Oh, you have my cell phone,” she said, blurting out the obvious when she spotted the gleam of silver metal in his big hand.

He held it out to her. “Later than intended. My apologies.”

Was it her imagination, or did his fingers deliberately brush hers as she took the device from his grasp?

“Thanks for returning it,” she said, still caught in the hold of his gaze. “Were you, ah…were you able to do anything with the images?”

“Yes. They were very helpful.”

She exhaled a sigh, relieved to hear that the police might, at last, be on her side in this. “Do you think you’ll be able to catch the guys in the photos?”

“I’m certain of it.”

His tone was so dark, she didn’t doubt him for a second. Actually, she was getting the feeling that Detective Thorne was a bad guy’s worst nightmare.

“Well, that’s great news. I’ve got to admit, this whole thing has been making me a little jumpy. I guess witnessing a brutal murder will do that to a person, right?”

He gave her only the barest nod of agreement. A man of few words, evidently, but then who needed conversation when you had soul-stripping eyes like his?

To her relief and annoyance, from behind her in the kitchen, the oven timer started beeping. “Shit. That’s, um—that’s my dinner. I’d better grab it before the smoke alarm goes off. Wait here for a sec—I mean, do you want to—?” She took a calming breath, unused to being so rattled by anyone. “Come in, please. I’ll be right back.”

Without hesitation, Lucan Thorne stepped inside the apartment as Gabrielle turned to set down her cell phone and liberate her manicotti from the oven.

“Am I interrupting something?”

She was surprised to hear him in the kitchen with her so quickly, as if he had been silently on her heels from the instant she invited him in. Gabrielle lifted the pan of steaming pasta out of the oven and set it down on the range top to cool. She stripped off her hot mitts and turned to give the detective a proud grin.

“I’m celebrating.”

He cocked his head to regard the quiet space around them. “Alone?”

She shrugged. “Unless you want to join me.”

The mild incline of his chin seemed guarded, but he removed his dark coat and draped it over the back of a counter stool. He was a peculiar, distracting presence, all the more so now that he was standing in her small kitchen—this heavily muscled stranger with the disarming gaze and slightly sinister good looks. He leaned back against the counter and watched her attend to the bubbling dish of baked pasta. “What are we celebrating, Gabrielle?”

“I sold some of my photographs today, in a private showing at a chichi corporate office downtown. My friend Jamie called about an hour ago with the news.”

Thorne smiled faintly. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She pulled an extra glass from the cupboard, then held up her opened bottle of chianti. “Would you like some?”

He shook his head slowly. “Regretfully, I cannot.”

“Ah. Sorry,” she said, reminding herself of his profession. “On duty, right?”

A muscle jumped in his strong jaw. “Always.”

Gabrielle smiled, reaching up to hook some of her loose, curling hair behind her ear. Thorne’s gaze followed the movement, and narrowed on the small scratch that marred her cheek.

“What happened to you?”

“Oh, nothing,” she replied, not thinking it was a good idea to tell a cop how she spent part of the morning trespassing out at the old asylum. “Just a scrape—hazard of the job from time to time. I’m sure you know how that goes.”

She laughed lightly, a bit nervously, because suddenly he was moving toward her, his expression very serious. Just a few smooth paces brought him right up in front of her. His size—his obvious strength—was overwhelming. This close, she could see the thick slabs of muscle that bunched and moved under his black shirt. The fine knit fabric clung to his shoulders, arms, and chest, as if tailored to fit him perfectly.

And he smelled amazing. She didn’t detect cologne, only the trace scents of mint and leather, and something darker, like an exotic spice she could not name. Whatever it was, it drenched her senses in something elemental and primal that drew her closer to him when she probably should be backing away.

She sucked in her breath as he reached out to her, the tips of his fingers tenderly grazing her jaw. Heat spread out from that bare contact, flooding her neck as he splayed his hand along the sensitive skin below her ear and around to her nape. With his thumb, he traced the abrasion on her cheek. The scrape had stung when she cleansed it earlier in the day, but now, under his unexpectedly soft caress, she felt no discomfort. Nothing but languid warmth and a slow, swirling ache at her very core.

To her astonishment, he leaned down and dropped a kiss on her marred cheek. His lips lingered there, long enough for her to understand that this was meant as a prelude to something more. She closed her eyes, heart racing. She didn’t move, hardly breathed, as she felt Lucan’s mouth drift toward hers. He kissed her lips meaningfully, a faint bite of hunger cushioned within the warm press of his mouth. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. His gaze held an animal wildness that sent a thrill of anxiousness shooting up her spine.

When she finally found her voice, it came out in a small, breathless rasp. “Should you be doing this?”

That penetrating gaze stayed rooted on her. “Oh, yes.”

He bent down to her again, brushing his lips over her cheeks, her chin, her throat. She sighed, and he caught her little gasp with a searing kiss, thrusting his tongue between her parted lips. Gabrielle took him in, vaguely aware that his hand was behind her now, slipping beneath the hem of her tee-shirt. He stroked the arch of her bare back, his fingers tenderly brushing her spine. His caress traveled lazily downward, over the fabric of her pants. His strong fingers cupped the curve of her ass, squeezed her tightly. She didn’t resist at all as he kissed her deeper and gradually pulled her forward, until her pelvis mashed against the hard muscle of his thigh.

What the hell was she doing? What was she thinking here?

“No,” she said, her conscience struggling to surface. “No, wait. Stop.” God, how she hated the sound of that word when his mouth was feeling so damned good on hers. “Are you…Lucan…are you with someone?”

“Look around, Gabrielle.” His lips dragged over hers as he spoke, making her dizzy with want. “It is only you and me.”

“A girlfriend,” she blurted between kisses. It was probably a little late to be asking, but she had to know, even if she wasn’t at all sure how she would deal with an answer she didn’t want to hear. “Do you have a girlfriend? Are you married? Please don’t tell me you’re married….”

“There is no one else.”

Only you.

She was pretty sure he hadn’t said those last couple of words, but Gabrielle heard them echo in her mind, warm and provocative, stripping her of any resistance.

Oh, he was good. Or maybe she was just that desperate for him, because that spare, unadorned pledge was all he gave her—that, and the dizzying combination of his tender hands and hot, hungry mouth—and yet she believed him without a shred of doubt. She felt as if his every sense was trained on her alone. As if there was only her, only him, and this burning thing that existed between them.

Had existed, from the moment he first showed up on her doorstep.

“Ohh,” she gasped as the breath left her lungs in a slow sigh. She sagged against him, reveling in the feel of his hands on her skin, caressing her throat, her shoulder, the arch of her spine. “What are we doing here, Lucan?”

His low growl of humor hummed beside her ear, deep as night. “I think you know.”

“I don’t know anything, not when you’re doing that. Oh…God.”

He broke their kiss for an instant, looking into her eyes as he ground into her with a slow, meaningful thrust. His sex was rigid at her abdomen. She could feel the solid length of him, could feel the sheer size and strength of his shaft, even through the barrier of their clothes. A flood of moist heat surged between her legs at the thought of taking him inside of her.

“This is why I came here tonight.” Lucan’s voice rumbled beside her ear. “Do you understand, Gabrielle? I want you.”

The feeling was more than mutual. Gabrielle moaned, her body writhing against his with a heat she had no power to control.

This wasn’t happening, not really. It had to be another crazy dream, like the one she’d had after the first time she met him. She wasn’t actually standing in her kitchen with Lucan Thorne, letting this man she hardly knew beyond his name seduce her. She was dreaming—had to be—and before long she was going to wake up on her sofa, alone as usual, with her glass of red wine dumped on the carpet and her dinner burning in the oven.

But not yet.

Oh, God, please…not yet.

Feeling him stroke her skin, burning under the skill of his tongue, was better than any dream, even the delicious one she’d had of him before, if that could be possible.

“Gabrielle,” he whispered. “Tell me you want this, too.”

“Yes.”

She felt his hand working between them, urgent tugging, his breath hot against her neck. “Feel me, Gabrielle. Know how badly I need you.”

His fingers were light on hers, guiding her to where his stiff erection protruded, freed from its confines. Gabrielle wrapped her hand around him and gave the velvety shaft a slow, admiring stroke. He was large here as everywhere, and brutally strong, yet so very smooth. The weight of his sex in her hand intoxicated her like a drug. She tightened her grasp and pulled the hard flesh, her fingertips skimming over the thick head.

As she worked her hand along his length and girth, Lucan’s body jerked. She felt his hands shake a bit as he moved them from her hips to the loose ties of her pants. He yanked at the knotted cord, his hot exhalation feathering across her scalp in a foreign-sounding oath. There was a rush of cool air against her belly, then the sudden heat of Lucan’s palm as he slid his hand inside her panties.

She was wet for him, out of her mind and burning with desire.

His fingers slipped easily through the narrow thatch of curls between her legs, then into her slippery cleft, teasing her with the play of his hand against her aching flesh. She cried out as hunger washed over her in a shivering wave.

“I need you, too,” she confessed, her voice threadbare, raw with desire. In response, he eased one long finger inside of her, then another. Gabrielle writhed around that questing, not quite filling caress. “More,” she gasped. “Lucan, please…I need…more.”

A dark growl boiled out from between his lips as he leaned down and claimed her mouth in another hungry kiss. Her pants came off in a hasty tug of falling fabric. Her panties were next, thin lace snapping under the strength of Lucan’s impatient hands. Gabrielle felt air hit her suddenly naked skin, but then Lucan sank down to his knees in front of her and she was on fire before she could take her next breath. He kissed her and licked her, his hands braced hard and unrelenting against her inner thighs, spreading her wider for his carnal desires. The feel of his tongue spearing her flesh, suckling her deep into his mouth, turned Gabrielle’s limbs to liquid.

She came swiftly, harder than she could have imagined. Lucan held her firmly in his hands, pressing her damp core to him, giving no quarter as her body quivered and bucked, her breath falling to a strangled gasp as he stroked her toward the crest of another climax. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back on her shoulders, surrendering to him, and to the insanity of this most unexpected encounter. Gabrielle clawed at Lucan’s shoulders to hold herself up while her legs went boneless beneath her.

Release bore down on her again. It seized her in a fierce grasp, spun her high into a sensual dreamland, then let her go, and she was falling, falling….

No, she was being lifted she realized from within her sexual daze. Lucan’s arms held her tenderly, curved beneath her back and under her knees. He was naked now, and so was she, though she couldn’t recall taking off her shirt. She looped her arms around his neck as he carried her out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Sarah McLachlan’s voice poured out of the speakers, singing about holding someone down and kissing their breath away.

The soft crush of chenille cushioned her as Lucan placed her down on the sofa and braced himself above her. It wasn’t until that moment that she was able to see him fully, and what she saw was magnificent. Six-and-a-half feet of solid muscle and sheer masculine power caging her beneath him, his strong arms hemming her in on either side.

And as if the raw beauty of his body wasn’t enough, Lucan’s gorgeous skin was decorated with a jaw-dropping array of intricate tattoos. The complex design of arcing lines and interlocking patterns swirled around his pecs and ribbed abdomen, up over his broad shoulders, then down his thick biceps. Their color was elusive, variegated in shades of sea green, sienna, and wine-dark red that seemed to pulse toward richer hues the longer she stared at them.

When he tilted his head downward to lavish attention on her breasts, Gabrielle saw the tattoo that stretched up the back of his neck and into his dark hairline. She had wanted to trace the intriguing markings the first time she saw Lucan. Now, she gave in to the urge with abandon, letting her hands travel all over him, marveling at both the mysterious man and the unusual art he wore.

“Kiss me,” she begged him, reaching down to clutch at his tattooed shoulders.

He started to rise up over her and Gabrielle arched into him, fevered with hunger, needing to feel him inside her. His erection was a heavy length of steely heat where it pressed between her thighs. Gabrielle slid her hands down and stroked him, lifting her hips to welcome him in.

“Take me,” she whispered. “Fill me, Lucan. Now. Please.”

He did not deny her.

The thick head of his sex pulsed, hard and demanding, at the entrance of her body. He was trembling, she realized dimly. His massive shoulders shook beneath her hands, as if he had been holding himself back all this time and was now about to burst. She wanted him to come apart like she had. She needed to have him inside her or she was going to die. He gave a strangled groan, his mouth at the sensitive crook of her neck.

“Yes,” she urged him, shifting beneath him so that the shaft of his cock now cleaved the center of her. “Don’t be gentle. I won’t break.”

His head reared up at last, and for an instant he stared down into her eyes. Gabrielle looked up at him from beneath heavy lids, startled by the untamed fire that met her gaze. His eyes fairly glowed, twin flames of palest silver, engulfing his pupils and boring into her with preternatural heat. The bones of his face seemed sharper, his skin stretched taut across his angular cheeks and stern jaw.

It was so peculiar, the way the dim light of the room played across his features….

That thought had hardly formed before the living room lamps blinked off as one. She might have considered it strange, but as the dark settled around them, Lucan breached her body with a deep, mind-numbing thrust. Gabrielle could not bite back her moan of pleasure as he filled her, stretched her, impaled her to her core.

“Oh, my God,” she nearly sobbed, accepting every hard inch of him. “You feel so good.”

He dropped his head to her shoulder and grunted as he drew back, then plunged even farther than before. Gabrielle clutched at his strong back, pulling him closer, as she lifted her hips to meet his hard thrusts. He cursed under his breath, and it was a black, feral sound. His cock leaped within her, seeming to swell even greater with each relentless flex of his hips.

“I need to fuck you, Gabrielle. I’ve needed to fuck you from the moment I first saw you.”

The frank words—his admission that he’d wanted her as much as she had wanted him—only inflamed her more. She twined her fingers in his hair, gasping wordless, pleasured cries as his tempo increased. He thrust and withdrew, pistoning between her legs now. Gabrielle felt the rush of orgasm coiling in her belly.

“I could do this all night,” he growled, his breath hot against her neck. “I don’t think I can stop.”

“Don’t, Lucan. Oh, God…don’t stop.”

Gabrielle held on to him as he pumped into her. It was all she could do as a raw scream tore from her throat and she was coming and coming and coming again.

         

Lucan stepped off Gabrielle’s front stoop and headed down her dark, quiet street on foot. He’d left her sleeping in her bedroom loft, her breathing rhythmic and sated, her delectable body spent after more than three nonstop hours of passion. He had never fucked so hard, so long, or so completely.

And still he was hungry for more.

More of her.

That he’d been able to conceal the lengthening of his fangs and the wild, desire-swamped cast of his eyes from her was a miracle.

That he hadn’t given in to the relentless, pounding need to sink his sharp teeth into her sweet throat and drink to inebriation was even more astounding.

Nor did he trust himself to linger anywhere near her when every fevered cell in his body ached to do just that.

Coming to see her tonight had likely been a monstrous mistake. He had thought that sex with her would purge some of the heat she fueled in him. He’d never been more wrong. Taking Gabrielle, being inside of her, had only further exposed his weakness for her. He had wanted her with an animal need, and had pursued her like the predator he was. He wasn’t sure he would have taken no for an answer. He didn’t think he would have been capable of leashing his desire for her.

But she hadn’t denied him.

Christ, no.

In retrospect, it would have been an act of mercy if she had. Instead, Gabrielle had accepted every measure of his sexual fury, demanding he give her nothing less.

If he turned around right now and stalked back into her apartment to wake her, he could spend another few hours between her gorgeous, welcoming thighs. That would at least satisfy part of his need. And if he could not slake the other, growing torment within him, he could wait out the sun and let the killing rays scorch him into oblivion.

If duty to the Breed didn’t have such a hold on him, he might consider that option as a damned attractive possibility.

Lucan hissed a curse as he turned out of Gabrielle’s neighborhood and strolled deeper into the nightscape of the city. His hands were shaking. His vision was sharp, his thoughts sliding toward feral. His body was twitchy, anxious. He snarled with frustration, knowing the signs well enough.

He needed to feed again.

It was too soon since the last time when he had taken enough blood to sustain him for a week, maybe more. That had been just a few nights ago, yet his stomach gnawed as though starving. For a long time, his cravings had been getting worse. Close to unbearable, the harder he tried to suppress them.

Denial.

That’s what had gotten him through this far.

Sooner or later, he was going to reach the end of that rope. And then what?

Did he really think he was so different from his father?

His brothers hadn’t been, and they’d both been older, stronger, than him. Bloodlust had ultimately claimed them both: one took his life by his own hand when the addiction became too much; the other went deeper still, turning Rogue, and then losing his head to the killing blade of a Breed warrior.

Being born first generation had gifted Lucan with a great deal of strength and power—and instant respect that he knew he didn’t deserve—but it was every bit as much a curse. He wondered how much longer he could fight the darkness of his own savage nature. Some nights, he grew goddamned tired of the fact that he had to.

Passing among the evening population on the streets, Lucan let his gaze roam. Although he was stoked for battle if he found it, he was pleased there were no Rogues in sight. Only a scattered number of late-generation vampires from the area’s Darkhaven: one pack of young males mixing with a giggly group of human partygoers and surreptitiously trolling, as he was now, for viable blood Hosts.

He saw the youths nudge each other, heard them whisper the words warrior and Gen One as he moved toward them on the stretch of pavement. Their open awe and curiosity were annoying, though not unusual. Vampires born and raised in the Darkhavens rarely had the opportunity to see one of the warrior class, let alone the founder of the once-vaunted, now long-antiquated Order.

Most knew the old stories of how, several centuries past, eight of the fiercest, most lethal Breed males came together as a group to slay the last of the savage Ancients and the army of Rogues who served them. Those warriors became legendary, and in the time since, their Order had gone through many changes, increasing in numbers and locations under periods of Rogue conflict, only to trail off during the long stretches of peace between.

Now, the warrior class was comprised of a covert handful of individuals around the globe, operating largely independently, and not without a little contempt from the society as a whole. In this enlightened age of fair treatment and due process within the vampire nation, warrior tactics were considered renegade, and but a shade this side of the law.

As if Lucan, or any of the warriors on the front lines with him, gave a shit about public relations.

With a snarl tossed in the direction of the gaping youths, Lucan cast out a mental invitation to the nattering human females the vampires had been chatting up on the street. Every pair of feminine eyes latched on to the raw power he was knowingly throwing off in waves. Two girls—a chesty blonde and a redhead just a degree or two lighter than Gabrielle’s tresses—immediately broke away from the pack to approach him, their friends and the other males instantly forgotten.

But Lucan needed only one of them, and the choice was easy. He dismissed the blonde with shake of his head. Her companion settled under his arm, petting him as he led her off the street and into a discreet, unlit alcove of a nearby building.

He got down to business without hesitation.

Sweeping the girl’s smoke-and-beer scented hair away from her neck, Lucan licked his lips, then plunged his extended fangs into the flesh of her throat. She spasmed under his bite, her hands coming up instinctively as he pulled the first long draught from her vein. He sucked hard, no desire to draw things out. The female moaned, not in alarm or discomfort, but in the pleasure that was unique to the letting of blood under the thrall of a vampire.

Blood surged into Lucan’s mouth, warm and thick.

Against his will, he flashed on a mental picture of Gabrielle in his arms, letting himself imagine for the briefest second that it was her neck he suckled now.

Her blood, coursing down the back of his throat and into his body.

God, to think what it would be like to draw from her vein as his cock pumped into her heat, spilling deep within her…

Christ.

He thrust the fantasy away with a vicious snarl.

Never gonna happen, he warned himself harshly. Reality was a bitch, and he’d better not lose sight of it.

Fact was, this wasn’t Gabrielle, but an anonymous stranger, just the way he preferred it. The blood he took now wasn’t the jasmine-tinged sweetness he craved, but a bitter copper tanginess, corrupted by some mild narcotic his Host had recently ingested.

He didn’t care what she tasted like. All he needed was to smooth the edge off his hunger, and for that, anyone would do. He drew more from her and drank it down with haste, expedient in his feeding as was always his way.

When he finished, he smoothed his tongue over the twin punctures to seal them, then backed out of the unwanted embrace. The young woman was panting, her mouth slack, her body languid as though fresh off an orgasm.

Lucan put his palm on her forehead and let it drift down to close her dazed, heavy-lidded eyes. That touch would scrub all recollection of what just occurred between them.

“Your friends are looking for you,” he told the girl when his hand came away from her face and she blinked up at him in confusion. “You should go home. The night is full of predators.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding agreeably.

Lucan waited in the shadows as she wobbled back around the corner of the building to find her companions. He sucked in a deep breath through teeth and fangs, every muscle in his body tense, tight, pulsing. His heart was hammering in his chest. Just thinking about what Gabrielle’s blood might taste like in his mouth had given him a raging hard-on.

His physical appetite might be calmer now that he’d fed, but he was hardly content.

He still…wanted.

With a low growl, he stalked out into the street once more, surlier than ever. He set his sights on the roughest part of town, hoping he’d meet up with a Rogue or two before dawn started to rise. He suddenly needed a fight in a bad way. Needed to hurt something—even if that something ended up being himself.

Whatever it took to keep him far as hell away from Gabrielle Maxwell.