
New Concepts Publishing www.newconceptspublishing.com
Copyright ©2003 by Celeste Anwar
First published by New Concepts Publishing, April 2003
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
(c) copyright Celeste Anwar, April 2003
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright April 2003
New Concepts Publishing
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The heavy bass pounded the air of the club as lights flashed to the deafening techno beat. Glowsticks twirled in the semi-dark. Dancers twisted in sensuous movements to the throbbing tempo that suffused their limbs. The floor was thick with scantily clothed, sweaty men and women rolling on X and other erotic drugs.
Curling wisps of smoke and artificial mist hung over the crowd, clinging in the half darkness like a lover's touch.
It was Saturday night---and it was crowded. The club, Inferno, was the most popular night spot in the city since the blue law had been lifted. For the unwary, the naive, it was sometimes the last stop they ever made.
Across from the dance floor, shielded from the flashing lights and the near ear-splitting music, tables stood for those resting from the dance---or those interested in pursuing more carnal delights.
Cloaked in shadow, Raoul Etienne followed the movements of the dancers, two fingers of scotch sitting untouched before him on the scarred, wooden table. His gaze unwavering, he fingered the rim of his glass, watching one woman in particular---the same woman he'd come to see night after night. Clara. He'd learned her name the previous night when a friend had called out to her. His ears had perked immediately to the sound of her voice, as husky and seductive as its owner. Raoul caught glimpses of her through the crowd as she danced and tossed her hair, two shades too red to be natural but mesmerizing nonetheless.
He sensed movement to his left, and Navarre Lyssandro strode forth and sat beside him without a word. Navarre scowled as he followed the line of Raoul's gaze. Raoul ignored him, unwilling to cease his vigil for a moment. He hadn't since he'd discovered what had happened, and still that bastard had managed to mark her a second time. He would not allow it again.
"You've been here all week, just watching her. How long will this continue?" Navarre asked.
Though the music drowned out Navarre's words to other listeners, Raoul heard him just as easily as if there'd been no music at all. Raoul didn't spare him a glance. "It is the third night. The third mark."
"You are certain?"
"I can smell it, practically taste it on my tongue." He paused a moment, then said, "She does not know Danior has marked her."
Navarre sniffed the air, looking at the dance floor. Past the sweat of many bodies, the smoke, the liquor, he caught the faint scent that he had missed before. Navarre was silent a moment, contemplating the weight of this discovery. "Better you take her against her will than he?"
Raoul turned fierce eyes on his friend. "At least she would not die," he growled, menacingly low, then remembered to whom he was talking. He forced his raging blood to calm as if thrust into an icy river. It did no good to be angry at his friend---he was only pointing out the obvious. But if Danior Blake took her again tonight, she would cross over into the un-dead, into the festering world of the vampire. Already he saw her lagging endurance. He knew not how the vampire had enticed her here, but it was moot. The damage had been done.
"You would have her as your femme entretenue? You know she could never be your mate. She is not of our kind."
"I need no permission to keep a woman, nor do you need remind she is not louve." Not wolf.
Navarre remained stone faced regarding him. He leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table and cocked his head toward Raoul. "I know your true motives, mon ami. I should stop you. It's foolhardy coming to his lair to take the woman."
"That never stopped us before." Raoul picked up his glass and threw back its contents in one swallow.
"No, it hasn't."
Raoul grinned, wolfish. "You hate them as I do, as do we all." He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a scraping rattle.
Navarre leaned back and stretched his arms behind his head as he watched him. "You could start a war."
"Then let it begin."
It was impossible for Clara Falkner to be unaware of the strange man's attention. At every turn, she could feel his gaze roaming her body as palpable as a caress. It was intimate. Almost ... hungry. And she enjoyed it. Never had she been a woman to garner admiring glances from a man. The chill of goosebumps made her shiver despite the cloying warmth of many bodies pressed close.
He'd been watching her for the past two days---ever since she'd arrived at Inferno with no knowledge of how she'd gotten there. It could be her memory loss and lethargy were just coincidental with the stranger's regard, but for some reason that teased the edges of her brain, she didn't think so. And it merely intrigued her all the more.
In the movements of the dance, she casually turned to peer through the haze to where she knew he sat, watching her. He was talking with another man she hadn't noticed before, this one as fair as he was dark. He seemed to sense the moment her gaze alighted on him, for he looked up and caught her staring. Clara felt a shockwave jump between them as their eyes met.
She looked quickly away, breaking the contact, then glanced back when she thought it was safe. The hairs rose on the back of her neck as she saw him rise from his seat and stride purposefully across the room, allowing nothing to distract him from his goal.
Her mind immediately conjured an image of a wolf moving in for the kill.
And he was coming for her.
She knew it as surely as she knew her own mind. The scene seemed to play before her like a movie moving in slow motion. Agonizing seconds ticked by.
Her heart pounded in her chest, her blood pumping furiously through her veins, throbbing deafeningly in her ears. She knew she should run, knew she shouldn't be so fascinated by the stranger, but she couldn't. The dance was forgotten. Clara ceased moving at all, became deaf to the music thumping in her ears ... and ignored that warning, inner voice that had shielded her all her life. Unable to do anything, she could only watch him move toward her with the confidence of a predator claiming his quarry. The throng parted unconsciously at his approach, allowing him an unobstructed path straight toward her.
Despite his height and muscular breadth, he exuded a predatory grace that was unnerving. The black mesh shirt he wore left little to the imagination. Rather, it enhanced the bulging muscles of his chest and the rippled abdomen that tapered down to his lean, leather encased hips. A silver ring in his nipple, barely hidden by the mesh, glinted in the flashing lights. Strands of long, black hair fell across his forehead, over his broad shoulders, drawing her gaze. On another man, it might have appeared effeminate, but there was no mistaking his masculinity. And Clara had always responded to men with long hair.
Eager to study his face, which she'd been fearful of looking overlong at before, she lifted her gaze, past full, kissable lips and his straight nose, until she met his eyes and was caught. He held her like a trapped bird, hypnotized. The amber orbs almost seemed to glow with an inner fire. She was helpless to look away from him.
Inexplicably, she could feel her heart slowing its rapid tattoo, calming as he reached for her. He placed a hand behind her waist and pulled her flush against him, against the hard bulge of his erection. She was instantly aroused.
Sound returned, fear and excitement, as the music swelled and he moved with her in the dance. Clara draped her arms over his shoulders, rolling her body against him, her breasts pressing tantalizingly against his chest with each rocking movement. He cupped the cheeks of her ass, grinding his hips into her, spreading her legs. Clara gasped as he rocked his erection against her sex, clinging to him. She was blinded to anything but his eyes, boring into hers. Her short skirt rode high on her thighs, and she felt moisture creep into her sex with his rough abrasion.
The tempo quickened, and he responded by holding her closer, moving into her as if he'd take her there on the dance floor, standing in the midst of a crowd. His faint, musky scent had the allure of something wild, savage. He bent his head to her neck, rubbed his faintly whiskered jaw across her sensitive skin, and nipped her earlobe with sharp teeth. His tongue was rough against her neck, tasting her. His breath hot against her already feverish skin, she shivered from the sensations, welcoming the alien feeling. Never had she danced this way before ... or allowed a man such intimacies. It was so close to making love, she thought she'd collapse from the delicious agony his proximity aroused in her.
"Leave with me," he whispered into her ear, rocking his hard groin against her for emphasis, leaving her in no doubt of what he was asking. She tightened her arms around him in response, weakened.
Was it a request? A command? Her senses reeled with unfamiliar lust. She was past the point of caring about anything but satisfying that ache between her legs. Clara nodded, and breathless, said, "Okay."
He straightened from her, almost smiling. She felt suddenly chilled without his body pressed tightly to her, and wondered briefly if she'd gone insane. He took her hand before she could change her mind and led her off the dance floor toward the back exit.
No one took note of their passage or barred their departure. They were quickly outside, pushing through the outer door into a dark alley. The heavy, metal door slammed shut with finality behind them as they exited, silencing the raging cacophony of the club. In the quiet, Clara felt almost deaf from spending hours inside.
Sanity was slowly returning, despite her best efforts to keep it at bay. She shouldn't be doing this. She wasn't the type of person to have a one night stand, to go off alone with a strange man whose name she didn't even know. It was insane to trust him---but she did. Unfathomable as it was, she wanted this like she'd never wanted anything before. And she wanted him.
He turned abruptly, faster than she could blink, and pushed her into a darkened doorway before she could react. He propped his arms on the door on either side of her head, blocking her outward view. She could only see his eyes, shining gold from some light beyond her line of vision. Clara froze, mesmerized, unwilling and unable to fight.
"I've wanted to take you since I first saw you."
She couldn't deny the thrill that raced through her at the husky admission. His voice was incredibly deep with a hint of an accent. Perhaps French? The low timbre made her tingle in all sorts of forbidden places. He leaned forward, his mouth mere inches from her own, teasing her when all she wanted was to taste his kiss. Her lips parted of their own accord ever so slightly. She held back, waiting to see what he'd do, eager and afraid all at once.
Closing the gap separating them, he touched his lips to hers, slanting his mouth across her lips. Clara startled as a jolt of pleasure vibrated along her nerves at the contact. He growled and cupped her jaw, forcing her mouth open as he plunged his tongue inside. Greedy, demanding, he tasted her, sweeping his tongue through her crevices with a slow, thorough glide.
She sucked his tongue with near desperation and felt when the change came over him, when need overrode everything else. He'd been holding back before, though she hadn't realized it.
He growled low in his throat and crushed her against the door, trapping her to the feel of his body, of total domination.
Clara moaned, clutching at him, needing more. Her knees went weak, her legs became as supportive as rubber. She draped her arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer as he guided a knee between her legs.
She clamped her thighs against him, reveling in the hard feel of his leg pressed intimately against her. It wasn't enough. She'd worry over her doubts later. Right now, she needed his cock inside her.
Clara broke the kiss and he latched on to the base of her throat, sucking at the tender flesh. He was driving her crazy, and they'd shared no more than kisses. "I want you," she gasped, running her hands down his back to cup his tight buttocks. She dug her nails into the leather, and he grunted with pleasure.
He lifted his head, looked at her. "You are sure, chere?"
Clara nodded and tugged at his waistband. It was all the prodding he needed.
He kissed her again, nibbled her lips as he hurriedly unbuttoned her blouse. He popped the remaining buttons off as he ripped her blouse open to devour her. Trailing searing kisses, he traveled down her jaw to her collarbone, sucking at each new discovery until he reached her breasts.
Clara groaned as he pushed her bra aside and drew one breast out from its lacy covering. Frantic to feel him inside her, she didn't want him to take his time, but when he closed his mouth around her nipple, she forgot her objections. He sucked the small bud hard, teasing her with his teeth and tongue, with heat and wetness. He was greedy, rougher than she normally allowed. She felt as though he could consume her whole and she'd never utter resistance.
"You are so tres doux," he murmured huskily against her flesh. So very sweet.
He pinched her other nipple, toying with her breast as he reached his other hand beneath her skirt. Peeling her drenched panties down her thighs, he let them drop down her legs to the ground. Clara kicked them off her feet. Fingers shaking, she proceeded to work at his fly, anxious to ease her craving and have him fill her. The hard leather fly resisted her efforts.
Recognizing her struggle, he pulled away from her long enough to unfasten his fly and free his cock from his pants. Clara reached for it, curious to feel his size even if she couldn't see it in the darkness of her position. He groaned and tilted his head back as she wrapped a tentative hand around his thick length. He was enormous. Her slit grew wetter as she thought of him burying his huge cock inside her.
"Protection," she said, near breathless with wanting.
He nodded and dug in his pocket until he found a foil packet. Tearing it open with his teeth, he slid the thin rubber over his erection.
Clara pulled at his hips, urging him forward. He hesitated a moment, and she could feel his body tremble with tension and energy, as if he was debating with himself the wisdom of this course. His hesitation only made her want him more. Desperate beyond belief, Clara lifted a leg and wrapped it around his hips, drawing him to her, weakening his resolve. He shuddered finally, the battle he'd waged within over. Giving in to her demands, he grasped her thighs in his strong hands and spread her wide open. Cool air caressed her nether lips with shocking fingers. She trembled, waiting.
With a strength she'd never experienced, he thrust his full length inside her, his strained passage eased by her own soaking juices. She could feel every rigid inch passing inside, so hard and tight. He settled his mouth on hers, muffling her cries of pleasure as he pumped his cock inside her, grinding his pelvis against her clit.
Clara couldn't marvel at his strength in holding her up. She could only think of taking in more of him, of taking in all she could hold. She hooked her calves under his buttocks, urging him on. He pumped into her faster, harder, rocking her against the door with near bruising force.
She didn't care---could only feel the ecstasy mounting in her every nerve with each grinding thrust. Clara threw her head back as pleasure ran through her veins with each coarse stroke, leaving her trembling and weak. He dragged his mouth down her throat, sucking at the curve until he'd left his mark of possession near the small, healing wound she'd gotten days earlier, piercing her skin slightly with his teeth. He slid his cock in and out of her soaked pussy.
She hovered at the edge of ultimate release, ultimate agony. Clara dropped a hand and massaged her clit, craving the fall. She stroked herself roughly, slipping in her own juices until the orgasm took her in one liquefying climax. She screamed then, her muscles contracting around him as he continued thrusting inside her, faster now, shorter strokes as he rode her to his own completion. Her pussy continued to quiver with the orgasm, building to another as he continued. Clara moaned, the pleasure exhausting and thrilling all together.
He kissed her, hard, arms shaking and tense, hands gripping her as though he would fall without her anchoring him to this world. With a great shudder and a heaving sigh, he came. His cock twitched inside her, the thin rubber no protection against the potency of his release. He dropped her legs to the ground and collapsed against her, breathing raggedly, leaning heavily against the door.
Clara hugged him tightly, enjoying the feel of his hammering heart against her breasts---fast and powerful as a wild beast's. Her own pulse and breathing slowed, returning to normal. The pleasure still surged through her veins---her clit throbbing with the intensity of her orgasm---distracting enough to stall thoughts of remorse for a time.
A chill wind suddenly burst through the alley. It howled through the narrow passage with the ferocity of a train bearing down on them. Newspapers and other debris caught in the current whirled through the path past them, twirling as though caught in the force of a cyclone.
He broke away abruptly to look into the darkness and fastened his pants as he walked away to stand in the middle of the alley. Pale light shone down on him, casting fierce shadows across his face, illuminating the tension evident in his body and rigid stance. He appeared ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.
Clara shivered and pulled the edges of her blouse together, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs. Something was wrong. Leaning back against the door, she felt inexplicably weak, as though she would faint. Her skin felt feverish despite the cool air, and she didn't think the cause was their rigorous love-making from moments before. The eerie feeling taking hold grew by the minute, stronger and stronger. Her sight had narrowed down to a single point of focus, and she grasped at the vision of her lover to keep her afloat.
The sudden stillness of the night was broken by his voice, startling her.
"Danior," he said, speaking into the yawning cavity of darkness before him, a single word that sent chills traveling up her spine despite its simplicity, for she'd thought them alone.
There was such depth of hatred in his voice---she would have had to be deaf to miss it. She never expected he would get a response.
"Am I interrupting?"
The man stepped from the shadows like a clichÉ from a bad horror movie. Only nothing about this scene made Clara feel like laughing. An immense feeling of terror pervaded her senses, brought on by the man who'd seemingly come from nowhere. It was an unreasonable reaction, but something about him struck her as frighteningly familiar. The memory of the strange wounds she'd discovered while showering inexplicably came back to her, flashing in her mind's eye like a haunting vision.
A long, black cape concealed his body, making him appear to almost glide toward them. Equally strange, it took her a minute to realize the wind did not stir his hair or clothes. A chill ran down her spine at the sudden insight. She shook it off, determined not to allow her imagination to run wild.
The scope of her sight began clearing as he neared them, but her breathing was harsh in the ensuing quiet. She had to fight for every breath she took and could only stare in mesmerized horror as the two of them faced off.
A struggle for dominance, for power, was taking place between them, she knew, though neither uttered a word. Unseen energy fairly crackled in the air. She half expected them to lunge at each other's throats, but after a few minutes of tense waiting, something gave and the cloud of morbidity lessened enough to breathe and think once more.
Clara gasped as a rush of air entered her lungs. Attracted to the sound, the man glanced directly at her for the first time. Darkly beautiful, inky hair framed a face of sharp angles, but his full lips softened masculine edges. His skin was pale enough she wondered if he had an allergy to the sun like a child she'd once known.
A buzzing began in her ears as he stared at her, creeping through her brain like spider webs. Unconsciously, she took a step forward from the shelter of the door frame, releasing the edges of her blouse as she dropped her arms. Air struck her exposed skin. Becoming aware of what she was doing, she shook her head, trying to dismiss the probes tickling her mind.
He smiled, sensuously chilling, and the humming stopped. Clara hastily buttoned her blouse, uncaring if it was straight or not. She swallowed hard. What just happened? she wondered.
"You've taken my cherry, Raoul. I admit I hadn't expected such audacity near my abode," the stranger said suddenly in a softly seductive voice, returning his attention to the man who had so lately ravished her with pleasure.
Raoul. It sounded archaic. Clara didn't wonder at the strangeness of his words, rather that she now knew her mystery man's name. The knowledge had barely settled in her mind before she was caught off guard by Raoul's response to the man.
Hands clenched as hard and tense as his body, he looked capable of rending a man to pieces. Harsh, almost feral, he said, "I've given her the first mark, Danior. There's nothing you can do."
The finality of his words made Clara shudder. This confrontation should have struck her as ridiculous, but there was nothing farcical about the two men squaring off. Reaching up, she tenderly touched the bite Raoul had left on her neck in the throws of passion, so close to the wound she'd discovered yesterday. She'd ignored the small pain then, but did he think it entitled him to something more?
"I have only to drain her life's blood to cancel your marks," Danior responded.
Enough of that! "What the hell are you two talking about?" she demanded, anger and fear mingling as one.
"A small matter, nothing more, my pet," Danior said, keeping his eyes trained on Raoul.
"I'm not your ... anything. Or his either." Her brief insanity had landed her in a hell of a mess. It was past time she got out of here. Scraping through a confrontation was better than sticking around and being murdered. The proximity of the club wasn't enough of a safety net to suit her nerves, even if there was a chance others could come out the back exit as they had.
Clara straightened her resolve and pushed past the both of them, giving wide berth but exposing her back as she walked by. It couldn't be helped---it wasn't so bright that she couldn't not watch where she was going. Spraining an ankle wouldn't help her out run them if they gave chase.
Air rushed through the alley as it had earlier, and someone---Danior---laughed harshly behind her. Clara glanced over her shoulder as she quickened her pace. Only she and Raoul remained in the alley. Oh shit. Breathe. Just breathe. She ran. This was too freaky. She half wondered if she'd somehow been drugged and hallucinated the entire episode.
Heels clicking rapidly with hollow sound on the pavement, she raced through the remainder of the alley, looking wildly around as she dug her keys out of her pocket. She just wanted the safety of her car---to go home. Dashing through the floodlight at the end of the alley, past the club's entrance, she headed for the packed lot where she'd parked.
Raoul caught her at her car. Clara gasped in surprise when he grabbed her. She hadn't heard him over the deafening thump of her heart, hadn't expected him to be so fast, so close. One minute she was alone, and the next, he'd spun her around and trapped her against the closed door. Her keys clattered as they struck the ground, knocked from her hand in the tussle.
Raoul closed his large hands around her biceps in a vice grip and pressed his hard body tight to hers, caging her so that she couldn't move ... unless he willed it. She struggled a minute, realized it was less than useless to fight someone so much larger, and relaxed her back against the cool metal door.
"What do you want?" she asked belligerently, forcing herself to breathe deeply to calm her racing heart. She could act brave when she needed to. She'd talked her way out of worse situations, and she was eager to put this night behind her.
"I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave," he said with soft menace.
"I'll scream."
He leaned in close, until his mouth was inches from her own, teasing with his nearness. His breath warmed her skin, making her lips tingle with awareness. She thought he would kiss her, but when he did nothing, she was strangely disappointed. He was close enough she caught that wild scent that drove her insides into turmoil and filled her with instant lust. She couldn't remember ever being so ... animalistic before.
"You would have screamed already if you'd planned to, chere."
What? She'd been so focused on his mouth, she forgot she'd said anything. "I still could."
"But you won't." He rubbed his thumbs against the soft sides of her breasts in a manner that soothed as much as it teased. Her nipples tightened inside her lacy bra, and she suddenly had too much clothing on. She squirmed under the touch, and he pressed his hips harder against her as a warning. Any closer, and he'd be inside her. She bit her bottom lip, hating her responsiveness to him.
"There's over a hundred people inside that club. Someone will come," she said softly, unwilling to concede defeat.
"You know very well no one would hear you over the music. Besides," He paused a moment, his smile feral as he pulled back slightly. He passed a lingering look over her breasts, exposed by the hastily fastened blouse and her position. "No one heard your cries of pleasure."
Heat suffused her body, flushing her skin pink under his gaze. Her breasts felt heavy, swollen. She longed for him to massage the ache away. "Don't look at me like that," she said, attempting to bolster her anger.
"Tell me you don't enjoy it...." He smiled knowingly. "You can't lie to me ... I can smell it."
His voice was soft, almost apologetic in tone. But the look in his eyes belied that impression, dared her to contradict him. Clara remained silent. It was the truth. She swallowed hard as the realization hit home.
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked softly, almost afraid of the answer. There was a dangerous allure, a restrained savageness, about him that had captivated her from the moment she first saw him. She wanted him to brand her, to take her god only knew where. And that was the most frightening realization of all---even if he was mixed up with some lunatic.
As an answer, he shifted against her, almost nestling between her legs, as if he knew exactly how much she wanted him. And damn the consequences. The thin, silk skirt she wore was little barrier to the bulge of his arousal pressed hard into her. Moisture gathered in her sex with the insistent contact, tickling her swollen labia. She tilted her head back, closing her eyes, resisting the urge to moan, and suddenly remembered she hadn't put her panties back on. A flick of his wrist, and he could release his erection, take her there on the car. She shuddered.
"I want you to come with me."
She looked at him, and her clit throbbed at the look in his eyes. Her mouth was instantly dry. Clara swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I ... can't. This is crazy. I don't even know your full name, who you are...."
"It's Etienne. Raoul Etienne."
"Clara Falkner. I thought you sounded French." It seemed ridiculous to have this conversation now, after all they'd shared, after the strange confrontation the two men had had. Jeez, could she be any more inane?
Clara wanted to dig a hole and cover herself with a rock. This man had had his tongue and cock inside her, and she'd not even had the grace to discover his name first. Her family would be so ashamed at her behavior. She hadn't decided if she would bury the memory yet. It was hard to think past the fog of lust he inspired in her, with his scent still on her skin, with his erection pressed intimately against her and her own body begging to be filled by his cock once more.
"Cajun," he said succinctly, bringing her back to the present. "Danior still wants you. You will be safe at my place, Clara. Allow me to take care of you."
Staring into his eyes, she felt her willpower wavering. She was just about ready to say yes to anything he proposed. She'd begun the night with insanity. Shouldn't it end that way as well? Instinctively, she knew he would not hurt her, so what was the harm in living out her fantasies?
Lost in thought, she said nothing. When she didn't answer him, his face grew serious. His eyes darkened and his brow furrowed. In a voice chill with certainty, he said, "If you do not come, you will die tonight."
Raoul saw his words had provoked the appropriate response in her. Her face paled, and her eyes grew wide with dawning fear. Danior had scared her---he had reminded her of that fact. If she'd known the truth about Danior, about what he himself was, she would likely be terrified. He wanted her to be afraid. Fear was the ultimate survival tool.
She seemed to remember herself after a moment and clenched her jaw tightly.
Raoul's face darkened with irritation. He tightened his hands on her arms but she continued to look at him unafraid. She had him to thank for her ease of mind, though she didn't realize it. Had he not broken the vampire's mind marking, she would have willingly gone wherever the bloodsucker asked and been completely susceptible to his every suggestion.
He had made a mistake not taking her from this place to start with, to goad the vampire so near his lair. But when she'd begged him to take her and wrapped those sweet thighs around his waist, he'd been unable to resist sinking into her depths. And still he'd not had his fill of her. A mere human woman had tempted him and clouded his reason. It angered him to lose his control ... and it was deadly.
Danior had given them a brief respite for some unknown reason. Raoul couldn't risk that he would not return with back up. He could only fight so many before succumbing. Clara wouldn't have a chance in hell. He wanted to shake her, make her realize the danger.
If he'd had time to place the remaining marks on her, she would not be so foolishly defiant now. She would be bound to him, would crave his touch as she would no other. His cock hardened unbearably at the thought of laying his claim to her.
Beneath her bravado, she was still anxious, still afraid, and the heady mix only increased his hunger for her. She couldn't know her heightened adrenaline was as enticing to him as the musky perfume of her desire. Couldn't know that he was dangerously close to losing his chained beast after confronting Danior. He could not afford her fear right now, and did not want to fight her. "I am the only one who can protect you. I swear, on the blood of my heart, I will not harm you."
His sincerity pierced her stubbornness. "I'm regretting this already." She sighed and closed her eyes, shaking her head once before looking at him again. "I'll go with you. But you have to explain everything to me."
He nodded once and released her. "You'll learn more tonight than you ever wanted to know."
Clara was surprised when they reached his car, not expecting that he would drive such a costly vehicle. He was a large man, well over six feet tall, and the black viper fit as though made for him. A custom job on an already expensive car. Luckily, wealth had never impressed her like it did some people, and she was able to be at ease in the luxury vehicle.
Lights flashed as other cars drove past them on the lighted streets, busy with late night traffic.
She hadn't noticed before, given all that had happened, but now that she had some leisure and at least dim lighting, she could see he was covered with scars. Deep gashes rent his forearms and exposed shoulders, pulling toward his back to disappear under his mesh shirt. They were old enough to have healed completely and faded into the color of the surrounding skin. She wondered just how extensive the damage was.
"What happened to your arms?" she blurted out without thinking and cringed at her callousness. She touched a gentle fingertip to him, fascinated, traveling along one long scar that curled around his biceps. It was smooth and felt no different than his whole skin. "It looks like an animal got hold of you."
He glanced at her then back at the road, his look unreadable. "Something like that."
He didn't seem a man to talk much, but she sensed she'd struck a nerve, and with good reason. She shivered, thinking of what he must have gone through. Her heart ached with empathy for his suffering. "It must have been painful."
"Yes."
She burned to ask more but fell quiet when she saw where he was taking her.
They headed to an expensive residential neighborhood, enclosed in the city for convenience, where she knew the lots cost in the tens of thousands due to their location and illusory seclusion. For the first time, she wondered what he did for a living.
He pulled into the only road in or out and stopped at the gate briefly before a guard waved them through. Old fashioned street lamps lit the way through the heavy woods, and they passed several immense houses before he pulled into the drive of an old style Tudor.
The tension was thick in the intimate space.
She'd remained silent as long as she could bear it. She still wasn't ready to drop his accident. She knew instinctively that it was something she needed to know. "Would you like to talk about it? About the accident?"
He parked in the front and turned off the car. "Some things should be forgotten." Palming his keys, he got out of the car and opened the door for her.
"And some things you can never forget."
He gave her an angry look, then headed up the path to his front door. She had to practically run to keep up with him. He took so long to respond, she'd begun to think he wouldn't even bother answering. "You wouldn't understand," he said finally.
"Try me," she said, a little breathless as they stopped in front of the door.
"You don't belong in my world," he said gruffly as he unlocked the door and held it wide for her to enter.
"You've just invited me inside...."
Could he risk telling her the truth? That the monsters of the world's nightmares actually existed in a shadowy, secret society? She wouldn't believe him. No one did until it was too late to listen to the warnings. He'd never worried about people heeding him before, but he found he wanted her to believe him---not just think he was some psycho.
Had he not been attacked, all those years ago, he himself would still be ignorant and deny their existence.
He could warn her, tell her what had happened to him ... and what Danior had done to her. But that wouldn't mean she would listen.
Clara waited in the foyer, watching him expectantly with her soft, hazel eyes. She perceived too much. There was a vibrancy about her spirit that was difficult to resist ... or deny. That, and she was too damn beautiful by half, a woman built for loving. Being so close to her incited him to a raging lust he was hard pressed to control. Small wonder that Danior wanted her for his own.
"Follow me," he said finally, resigned, leading her into the living area that opened off the front entryway. A two story cathedral ceiling stretched above them, the hewn wood warm and inviting in the soft yellow light of a central chandelier. Here was as good a place as any to divulge his secrets.
He picked up a remote and hit a button. Instant fire roared to life in the fireplace.
Sitting near the blaze in an overstuffed chair, he stretched out his legs and bade her sit across from him. He stared at the fire, waiting until she was settled before beginning.
"Seven years ago, I was on the force, heading up the case of the Necro-ripper."
"I remember when that happened. I was in college, we were all terrified."
He nodded. "We thought we had him tracked down to the swamp. Had every available officer out there scouring the area, set up a perimeter and road blocks, the works. He wasn't getting out. He'd taken another girl, you see...."
He turned his gaze to her, watching her reaction. "My partner, Jim, and I had discovered some tracks. I never got to radio the finding in. Something fell from a cypress, slashed into my back. My left arm was nearly severed in the struggle. The last thing I remember was seeing Jim's head floating next to me in the water, and then blackness."
Clara looked about to speak, but Raoul held his hand up, stopping her. "I woke up in the hospital a week later. They'd found the Necro-ripper. Put about three dozen bullets in him. But the damage had already been done to me. I ... changed the first full moon...."
She looked confused, unsure of what to say. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, wringing the bottom edge of her blouse. "I ... I don't understand."
Watching her steadily, he held her rapt with his gaze so that she couldn't look away. "I was infected, chere. By a very rare virus. So rare, it's become nothing but a myth, or a tale to scare children.... Lycanthropy ... a werewolf."
Clara laughed. What he'd said wasn't the least bit humorous, but the horror he described, the conviction in his voice.... Her body hurt as though she'd lived through it, and her gut reaction was to bleed off the fright in the only way she knew how. She was disturbed to hear her hysteria so plainly, but she couldn't help herself. After only a moment, she went quiet, confronted by his dead seriousness, his silence.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, ashamed at her lack of control. It had been a hell of a night. She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, covering her face with her palms, unable to bear meeting the condemnation she knew he bore her. What she'd done was unforgivable. She'd been brought up better than that. But how could she have suspected he would tell her something so ... so outrageous and impossible to believe? She expected any minute some cameraman would jump out and surprise her with the knowledge she was on Scare Tactics.
"It's understandable, chere."
That only made her feel worse. Worse still, her gut told her he wasn't lying. She couldn't believe that he would lie about something so horrendous---not when his voice held the pain of truth. Not when confronted with the evidence of his extensive scarring. There had to be some explanation for it, but at the moment, she couldn't fathom what it could be.
"This is crazy," she said finally, her voice muffled by her hands, still cowardly trying to hide her shame.
"Don't make me show you, Clara. I don't want you to fear me."
Dropping her hands to her lap, she looked at him, struck by his tone and words. He was just as beautifully masculine to her now as when she'd first seen him. Hearing his admission, however crazy it sounded, hadn't changed her desire for him, her desire to know him. It was insane to have such strong feelings when she didn't know him, but he provoked a powerful response in her that she'd never encountered before.
"I would never fear you," she said with conviction, feeling it to be true. Obviously he was attuned to action, but as a foil for violence, not an aggressor. He'd been a police officer before. It that was true, it would explain much.
"You can't know the future." He looked into the fire, his jaw hard.
No, she couldn't, but she knew her feelings of the moment. She wanted to go to him, to soothe his torments, but she dared not right now. He seemed ... distant, troubled. So she did nothing but sit there, watching him. He excited her, but he didn't scare her, intense as he was. Still, there was one inconsistency she hadn't considered. "If you're a ... lycanthrope, how can you wear that?" She indicated the ring in his right nipple. "Isn't it silver?"
He smiled darkly. "I like a little pain mixed with my pleasure."
The low timbre of his voice vibrated along her nerves like an electric current. Heat flooded her, pooling between her legs. She shook herself mentally, trying to get a grip on her emotions. It was frightening how easily he could play them. Maybe he was more dangerous than she realized ... just by sheer potent sexuality....
"I know you don't believe me. You needn't worry. I will still protect you from Danior."
She felt better moving on to a different subject. It allowed her to gain control of her libido---before her brain was fried. Better not to dwell too long on his disease ... or her reaction to him. "Who is he?
He watched her a long moment before finally saying, "He is a vampire."
Clara shivered, unexpectedly chilled by this admission. She should have known better than to ask. She was reminded of that eerie wind that hadn't touched him, how he'd seemingly vanished. No, it just couldn't be. Still, Raoul's contempt made her curious. "You say that like you hate ... them."
"I do, as do all of my kind."
She couldn't fully believe him---it was just too far past the realm of believability---but suddenly she was fascinated. The paranormal had always captured her imagination. She'd spent more hours than she cared to remember reading horror books through the night. "Why?"
"They seek to control, to drain us. Our blood is like a drug to them, addictive, potent, rare. I have never met a natural born shape-shifter, but even those who were once human are scarce. Men rarely survive their attacks---women, almost never."
From a scientific standpoint, it made sense, just based on old legends and stories. Lycanthropes were like superhumans. It stood to reason that their blood would be more powerful, and highly prized by a vampires, who subsisted on blood. And also that it would be difficult and painful for a human to survive such vicious attacks, which would account for the rarity of such a race, to the point of lack of evidence to support their existence in modern society. She supposed most who were attacked were ... eaten. Clara swallowed hard, ill at that possibility.
Still.... "Then I'm not the target. He'd want you, if what you say is true." It seemed like sound reasoning, based on the information he'd provided and her own deductions. And if they were enemies, it was only natural to fight it out. They were men, after all, even if all the paranormal mumbo jumbo could be believed. Oozing testosterone and highly territorial.
The look on his face told her something entirely different. His brows drew down as he frowned at her. "You felt dizzy in the alley when he was near? Like you would faint?"
What did that have to do with anything? And how could he know? She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Yes. Yes, there was this horrible buzzing---"
"You have two marks on your body, do you not?"
She nodded slowly. How could he know about that? A chill ran up her spine, forcing goose bumps to rise on her skin. Despite wanting to believe the contrary, she was beginning to doubt conventional reasoning.
"He has given you the first two marks of what is called the triad: the mind, body, and lastly, soul. Anyone with the knowledge can invoke the spirit in three hallowed areas of the body and bind it to their own ... for a time.... It can weaken or strengthen, depending on the match.
Danior has been preparing you for his new ... companion. Surely you've heard the old legends: on the third night of blood-letting, a human dies. And the next night, they are reborn a vampire."
Clara raised a tentative hand to her neck, feeling the small wound, and the new one beside it. It couldn't all be true ... this was just ... too much to believe. The memory loss, the fatigue---was it possible? She felt like she'd entered the twilight zone, and Inferno had been the gate into hell.
"I can't remember what happened two days ago, not yesterday either...."
"He rolled your mind to make you forget. Easy enough to do once the mind mark has been invoked."
"I feel ... tainted somehow. Dirty." She shuddered, rubbing her arms rapidly for warmth. The thought of someone invading her mind and making her forget horrified her. She hated losing control.
Raoul stood and offered her his hand. "It's late. I'll show you to your room."
She took his proffered hand and rose, but shook her head at his suggestion. "No, I'm not ready to sleep. I ... I need to get warm. To feel clean again."
"The bathroom is up those stairs, to the right. You'll find everything you need in there."
A tense moment passed between them while he held her hand, and she thought he would kiss her rather than let her go, but finally he released her. Walking away from him, it took effort not to turn around, but her neck prickled and she knew he watched her go.
She was thankful he didn't follow, but disappointed too. She needed time to think about what he said, about the implications, and yet she also craved comfort and security. The kind she could only have in a man's arms ... in Raoul's arms.
Finding the bathroom just as he described, she entered the cavernous space. A whirlpool, cast in black marble, encompassed one entire corner of the luxury bathroom. In another, a huge shower stood that could easily have accommodated half a dozen people. Shower heads dotted the glossy marble walls. Plush black towels hung within easy reach on silver bars just outside the glass doors of the shower.
Clara stripped off her clothing, dropping it in a pile on the floor. She was reluctant to wash the comforting smell of him off her skin, but needed to cleanse her body and spirit of the taint holding her mind. That man had enthralled her. She couldn't deny it, no matter how much she wanted to. She didn't understand how it was possible, but she did know Raoul had saved her.
Stepping into the shower, she closed the door behind her then turned on the water, running it until heated. It took her a few minutes to figure out exactly how to use the shower, but after several tries, she finally managed to turn on just the overhead faucet.
The water was almost too hot as it rained down on her, but the heat banished the chill that had settled in her marrow. She stood there several minutes, just soaking up the heat and wetting down her body.
Grabbing a nylon loofah, she squirted bodywash on it and began lathering her arms. There was a soft click, and cool air flooded the space as the steam was sucked out. She turned slightly and glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see the shower door open ... and Raoul standing inside it.
Raoul closed the door as he stepped fully inside---too close for Clara's mind to continue functioning as it should. The enormous space shrank around them, until he stood mere inches away from her. The water seemed cool compared with the heated look he ran in a lingering pass over her body with deliberate thoroughness.
Her skin tingled from his leisurely once over, as if his hands stroked her curves. Clara forgot to breathe. Her heart stalled a moment, and then its pace quickened to a raging tempo. Thought fled along with all the reasons why she shouldn't get involved, shouldn't give in. It didn't occur to her to try and cover her nakedness. All she could do was stare at him.
Naked, his skin glistening from the escaping steam, he was more magnificent than she'd ever imagined. She'd always been able to admire a well honed body but had never really been aroused by looking at nudity. Raoul inspired instant lust.
The muscles of her sex clenched as a rush of liquid desire saturated her labia. An ache started low in her belly, an ache that could be cured only one way.
The nipple ring drew her eyes, and she was reminded immediately of what he'd said---and how it had made her feel. Hot. Hungry. Ravenous to taste him and tug his nipples with her teeth. She drew her eyes down his wide chest. A few scars curled around his ribs. His scars were a part of him, a savage badge of power. Her fingers prickled with the need to caress them, to touch every hard muscled inch of his body. She resisted, wanting---no, needing to see all of him.
A trail of dark hair traveled down his rippled stomach, guiding her to his cock. His erection was impossible to miss in the well trimmed thatch of hair surrounding it. His rigid member was thick, standing straight out from his body, and long enough she could easily wrap two fists end to end around it. Veins bulged along its length, his skin stretched impossibly tight. The cock head was swollen and large as a plum, it's color a deep red that looked hot to the touch. And she wanted that heat deep inside. She grew thoroughly soaked gazing on him, imagining him ramming his cock into her.
Raoul moved toward her, and she tore her gaze from his erection looking up at his face. He smiled, as if he knew she approved. Silent, watching her with unmistakable heat in his amber eyes, he reached slowly for the loofah, treating her like a skittish doe, and took it from her lax hands. He dropped it to the bed of the shower.
Taking her hands, Raoul pressed her palms against the heated marble. She watched as he squirted soap into his hands, and then he moved behind her where she couldn't see, out of the water. He slid against her, his body as wet now as her own, nestling his hard chest and stomach against her back until his cock pressed intimately into the crevice of her buttocks.
Clara bit her lip at his contact, craving more. She dug her fingers into the marble until her knuckles turned white with the effort not to turn around and jump him. Eager to know what he would do next, she held still, waiting with tensely.
He kissed the curve of her shoulder, and she tilted her head to allow him easier access. Nipping her with his teeth, he moved soap slickened hands up her braced arms to her breasts. Her nipples tightened unbearably as his palms skimmed over them, making her breasts feel heavy and swollen. She squirmed under his teasing touch, and he grunted low against her neck, cupping her breasts. Slippery with soap, he massaged them firmly, pinching her nipples hard between his fingers.
Clara moaned, pressing into his hands, desire uncoiling in her belly. She was more than ready for him, could feel her juices tickling her nether lips. "Please," she whispered, begging as she rubbed her ass against his cock. His hard erection twitched against her sensitive cheeks.
"So soon, chere?" He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue before kissing the hollow behind her ear.
"Yes. I want you inside me. Now."
She felt him smile against her neck.
"I'm afraid I can't accommodate you just yet, petit. I'll end your torment soon. For now, you must keep your hands on the wall," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Clara groaned in frustration but obeyed him.
Raoul moved down her back, dragging his teeth and tongue over her wet skin, licking up the water droplets that collected on her body. His hands moved down her ribcage to her belly, lathering her and teasing unbearably with his nearness to her pussy, fingers massaging just above the hairline. He reached the top of her buttocks with his mouth and pressed kisses across the top, at the base of her spine.
Clara startled when she felt his tongue slide down the cleft of her buttocks, then jumped in shock when he nipped the underside of one cheek. He sucked at the tender skin, and she felt something building inside her at the odd sensation. It was a forbidden area---she'd never allowed a man to ... kiss her there. She hadn't known her cheeks could be so sensitive. She shook at the feel of his sharp teeth grazing her neglected flesh.
He broke away and nuzzled her nether cheeks, his breath hot against her. "Spread your legs for me, Clara," he demanded, his voice hoarse, hovering on the edge of control.
Clara trembled and moved her legs slowly apart. Something wet and hot pressed firmly against her taint while he slipped one hand down to massage her inner thigh. She felt as though she was being groped by two men, handled everywhere she wanted most. She jerked as his fingers slipped through the hair covering her pussy, teasingly slow, just shy of where she wanted to be touched the most.
"Raoul, please..." she said hoarsely, unable to bear the torment.
He flicked his tongue against her and delved deep with his fingers until he found her swollen clit. Clara moaned, biting her lip as he rolled the small nub between his fingers, moving his tongue higher up her slit, until he plunged the liquid smooth length inside her depths.
A gasp tore from her throat, and she pressed her forehead to the wall, tilting her ass toward him, unconsciously begging for more. He pushed his tongue further inside, curling it in her tight passage, then withdrew to lap at her juices and the sensitive edges of her hole. His fingers found a tempo with her clit, alternately rubbing and pinching with faster and faster thoroughness.
A pulse beat in her sex, climbing with each stroke. He broke away from her cleft, and she felt the loss with aching clarity.
"Ma doux ... my sweet. You taste so good," he said, his voice muffled against her inner thigh. He sucked at her labia, pulling at the outer lips and moving toward her thigh.
Sliding his fingers down, he plunged two inside her, keeping his thumb rubbing hard against her clit. Clara shook as he moved in and out of her, bucking against his hand. She was going to cum. She could feel the orgasm build with every stroke, trembling on the edges of her climax.
It took her with a suddenness she hadn't expected. Her inner muscles gripped his fingers. As the orgasm ripped through her, she felt his teeth sink into her thigh. Clara screamed, the pain and pleasure mixing as one.
Sated and gasping, she collapsed against the wall. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, though her cleft still spasmed. He stood behind her, kneading her ass cheeks.
"I'm not finished with you yet," he growled softly.
"No," she said weakly, "I don't think I can take any more." The orgasm had left her weak and her appetites appeased.
"You can. And you will." Kissing and suckling her neck, he turned a knob and the wall units of the shower came to life, spraying the length of her body. The water massaged her breasts and belly, sensually bringing her back to life and washing away the evidence of her arousal. Guiding her, he moved them both until a jet of water sprayed directly against her sex. She moaned at the liquid assault to her sensitive flesh.
She heard him squirt more soap out, and after a brief moment, felt the nudge of his cockhead between her ass cheeks. He slipped down, slowly opening her folds.
She wasn't moist enough, she knew, to accommodate his huge length. Biting her lip, she expected pain and braced for it. He pushed his swollen cockhead past her tender lips and thrust fully inside her.
Clara gasped as he slipped with little effort inside, his way obviously eased by the soap. She was exhausted ... and dismayed to realize he'd rekindled her desire.
Placing his hands over hers against the wall, he pumped his huge cock into her, lifting her up with each powerful thrust. The water pummeled her clit with the vibrating power of a machine, driving her closer and closer to the edge.
He cupped her breasts, massaging her hard, grinding his hips against her.
Raoul was so huge and tight, she thought she'd burst from taking all of him in. Each stroke nudged her cervix. Just when she thought it was too much, that she couldn't take any more, he pulled out and began again. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Ramming his cock full hilt inside her again and again. Clara shook her head, crying out as he bit her neck and sucked her with bruising force.
The climax flamed through her veins, and still he drove into her, groaning against her neck, whispering French into her ear before plunging his tongue inside. Her clit spasmed with the continued assault, torturing her with another wave of pleasure.
Groaning, he worked into a frenzied tempo, and she could feel the power of his climax building even as her own radiated through her veins. He groaned hoarsely against the back of her neck as his cock pumped its seed into her until he was completely drained.
He collapsed against her, pressing kisses along her shoulder. Clara moaned as he pulled his heavy length from her body.
He turned her around and pressed her into the wall, crushing his mouth against hers in a fierce kiss. When he pulled away, her lips felt tender and swollen. And she'd thoroughly enjoyed every second.
Smiling wolfishly, he guided her to the overhead faucet and they rinsed away the sweat from their love making, running their hands over each other with playful thoroughness. Clara wondered if it was possible to become addicted to another person, and knew if so, she was hopelessly hooked.
Raoul patted her down with a towel until she was dry, then he scooped her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom, which was located right next to the bathroom.
The room was equally large as every other in the house, and a bed dominated much of the floor. He set her feet on the floor and drew back the comforter, revealing black silk sheets.
Clara climbed in and he followed, spooning her as he cradled her close and wrapped his arms tight around her. Secure and comforted, she felt positively glowing. He'd succeeded in taking her mind off horrible possibilities, but slowly the fear began creeping back, though not as strongly.
Determined to put it from her mind, she closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She'd just drifted off to sleep when she felt Raoul tense behind her. And then a voice whispered in the room.
The bed dipped as Raoul rose, and she felt the loss of his heat instantly.
"You violate the pact entering my home, Danior," Raoul said.
Shivers skittered up her neck like spiders' legs. This wasn't possible. Was she having a nightmare? Clara scrambled to the side of the bed, fumbling for the switch on the lamp, clutching the blanket to her chest. She couldn't see her hand in front of her face. How the hell could Raoul see anything?
She really didn't expect him to be answered, least of all by the man from the alley. There was a harsh laugh, too cold to be Raoul's. "You broke the second mark, Raoul. Did you expect me to do nothing?"
Light washed through the room as she found the elusive switch. She gasped and felt the blood drain from her face. The dark stranger, Danior, stood in the middle of the room. The hair rose on the back of her neck, chilling her. This couldn't be a nightmare---nightmares had never felt so ... real.
"You can't have her," Raoul growled, tensing to spring at him.
Clara watched in horror as his hands changed. She rubbed her eyes, hoping she was wrong. But she wasn't. His fingers grew, lengthening to half again their original length. Black claws sprang from his fingertips, curved and glistening in the weak light.
"So it's war you want," Danior said softly, his voice strangely deep.
She tore her gaze from Raoul to Danior and saw that he had changed as well. His teeth had elongated, his canines forming double fangs she'd only seen before in horror movies.
It was true. Everything Raoul had told her was truth.
The two men slowly circled each other in the wide space, each of them watching for weakness. Hands darted out for quick strikes, but each time the blows were blocked, resulting in minor wounds.
"I thought you would be better, Raoul. Those legendary skills of the wolf have grown lax I see," Danior taunted, chuckling as he swiped a hand across Raoul's biceps, leaving thin bloody slices.
Raoul grunted, landing a punch to Danior's ribs. Bone crunched audibly from the force. "I thought I'd take it easy on an old timer," he said, grinning like a mad man.
Clara hated this, wishing it was over, but terrified to know the outcome. She almost suspected they were enjoying themselves---if not for the seriousness of the situation. She gasped with each bloody contact, expecting a death blow to be delivered any moment.
Something changed in Raoul at her small gasps of surprise, as if he'd finally awakened to reality and realized their danger. Half crouching, he braced his legs, tensing for the jump. Growling deep in his throat, Raoul rushed Danior with a suddenness that stole Clara's breath. Danior caught the force of his movement. Raoul caught him by the throat, slamming him against the wall until it caved in under the pressure.
Plaster rained down, dusting them with white powder. Danior grinned and dug his fingers into Raoul's arms, forcing his hands open. Dropping to the floor, he pushed Raoul back, slicing into his chest with nails sharp as blades.
They moved with dizzying speed, so fast their arms were blurred with the furious movements. She couldn't keep up with them, couldn't bear to look away. She thought briefly of calling for help, but who could pull a werewolf and a vampire apart and not die in the process?
Raoul slashed his claws toward Danior's neck, but the vampire ducked, catching the blow in the shoulder. Retaliating in the blink of an eye, he came up with his own sharp nails, slashing into Raoul's neck.
Clara screamed as a bright stream of red gushed from the wound rent in his neck. Raoul staggered from the blow.
"No! Stop this, please!" she cried. Danior looked stricken, but she paid him no heed, her eyes only for Raoul. She jumped off the bed and rushed to him, pressing her hand to the wound.
Chest heaving, he bore her touch. His amber eyes were hooded and unreadable, his jaw muscles flexing.
She watched him steadily, unwilling to break contact. "I am yours, Raoul. I belong to you and no other." Slowly, the blood stopped flowing, the wound healing beneath her fingertips.
"The lady has made her choice, Danior," Raoul said gruffly, his eyes never leaving hers.
"So it appears," Danior said behind her.
"Perhaps another time, mon ennemi."
"I look forward to it...."
The heavy tension suffocating the room lifted as his words trailed off. The window burst open and cool air rushed inside, the curtains fluttering in the current.
"He's gone, chere. You can breathe again." He smiled and kissed her nose.
Clara laughed softly, the darkness that had clouded her mind gone. She looked down at herself and then at him. They were both a bloody mess, but she didn't care. All she wanted was to feel Raoul, his heartbeat, and know that he lived ... that he was real.
She pressed her palm to his heart, reveling in the pounding tempo.
Raoul bent his head and kissed her softly, bringing her to tingling awareness. He broke away rather than deepen it, and cupped her cheek in his palm.
"Will he come after us again?" She had to know and couldn't help asking.
"You made it plain you did not want him, so I think not. But did you mean what you said? Can you love a werewolf?"
She felt him tense imperceptibly, expecting her rejection. His vulnerability made a thrill race through her, singing in her veins. "I'm willing to give you my all," she said through a grin, touched.
Raoul smiled wolfishly. "Good. Let's take another shower," he said, winking.
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