A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark #2)(30)
Author: Kresley Cole

But he was her first and would be her only, and that made him proud. He fantasized about the next time she would drink. He’d get her to take from his neck, freeing both of his hands so he could pull aside her lacy undergarments and finger her wetness. Once she was ready for him, he’d work her down his length…

He stifled another shudder, then turned to ask her for the tenth time if she was thirsty yet, but he saw her curled up in the seat, looking soft and relaxed under his coat. He’d spread it over her, partly because he thought it would make her more comfortable and partly because it made him more comfortable not to see flashes of her thighs. She leaned her head against the window, staring out with that thing attached to her ears, and didn’t seem to realize that she sang softly. He didn’t want to interrupt her. Her voice was beautiful, lulling.

She’d said she did nothing well, which meant she didn’t believe she sang well, since she couldn’t have lied. He wondered why she wasn’t more confident in herself. She was lovely, her mind was sharp, and deep down she had fire. No, not too deep down. She had, after all, dislocated his jaw – at the first opportunity.

Perhaps her vampire family had found her too sensitive or introspective and had been cruel to her. That thought made fury fire in him, made him relish the idea of killing anyone who’d treated her ill.

Lachlain was aware of what was happening. He was siding with her, beginning to consider all things in terms of them. Somehow the bonding with his mate had begun with a bite.

How much longer till we get there? Emma was tempted to whine.

Now that she had some energy again, she was getting restless in the car. At least, she told herself that was why she’d begun squirming in the seat. Not because she’d melted under his coat, still warm from his body and surrounding her with his delicious scent.

She stretched, pulling out her earbuds, which apparently in Lykae was code for "Interrogate me," because the questions, they came a-calling.

"Earlier you said you’ve never killed, never drunk another. Did you mean you’ve never taken a man’s neck even during sex? Accidentally bitten him, even in abandon?"

She exhaled, pinching her forehead, disappointed in him. She’d been almost comfortable around him this night, but here came the sexual questions, the innuendo. "Where did this come from?"

"Nothing to do while driving but think. Have you?"

"No, Lachlain. Happy? Never went dental with anybody’s arm but your own." When he immediately parted his lip for another question, she snapped, "Anybody’s anything."

He relaxed a little in the seat. "Wanted to be sure."

"Why?" she asked, exasperated.

"Like being your first."

Was he for real? Was it possible he was asking these questions not to embarrass her, but because he was being a…a male?

"Does blood always make you react the way you did tonight – or was it taking from me that made you so wanton?"

Nope. Just to embarrass her. "Why is this important?"

"I want to know whether, if you were drinking blood from a glass – in front of others – you would behave as you did."

"You just couldn’t let me go a few hours without tormenting me?"

"No’ tormenting you. I need to know."

Emma was really beginning to hate speaking with him. Then she frowned. What was he getting at? When would she drink in front of others? She did at home, but that was from a mug or a margarita glass at a party. Not in a bed, partially undressed while a male licked her breast. Her heart sped up, anxiety erupting. Lachlain would never take her among his friends and family as she drank blood like wine, so why was he asking?

Was he making sordid plans that included her? She was struck once again by how little she truly knew about him. "I’ve heard about Lykae appetites and, uh, your openness with your sexuality" – she swallowed – "but I wouldn’t want to be that way in front of others."

He frowned at her briefly, then a muscle ticked in his cheek. Immediately she sensed his building anger. "I meant in a social situation where others drank. I would never even contemplate the other."

She flushed. Now her mind was in the gutter, cruising past his mind’s station there. "Lachlain, I’m no more affected than you would be from a glass of water."

He met her eyes, giving her a look so primal it made her shiver. "Emma, I doona know what you’ve been doing in the past, but know that when I take a woman into my bed, I will never share her."

13

You doona seem to care that we had to stop tonight," Lachlain said over his shoulder as he triple-checked the blankets he’d strung over the hotel window.

After midnight, the skies had opened up, rain pouring, making their journey slow going. He’d said Kinevane was perhaps two hours away. Emma had known dawn was in three.

She tilted her head, aware that he was deeply disappointed. "I was game to go on," she reminded him. She had been, shocking herself. Emma didn’t usually que sera, sera in matters solar.

After a final inspection of the blanket barrier, he allowed himself to sink down into the room’s plush chair. In a bid to keep from staring at him, Emma sat on the edge of the bed, remote in hand, and began to scan the movie channels.

"You ken I would no’ risk continuing." When he’d said he wouldn’t let her be burned again, Emma supposed he’d meant it.

Still, she didn’t understand how he’d prevented himself from rolling the dice with this one drive tonight. If she had been kept away from her home for one hundred and fifty years and she was within two hours’ driving distance, she would have dragged the unwitting vampire along.

Lachlain had refused, instead finding them an inn, not of the caliber they’d enjoyed, he said, but he’d "sensed it was secure." He’d felt comfortable enough to get two adjoining rooms because he planned to sleep, and as he’d promised, he wouldn’t do it around her. A quick calculation told her he’d gone nearly forty hours without.

Even so, he seemed uncomfortable having to divulge his need to sleep. In fact, it was only because his attention had wandered as he’d peered around them with narrowed eyes – which he’d been doing with increasing frequency – that he’d spoken of it. He’d absently admitted that he would have just gone without, but his injury was not healing as it should.

Injury, meaning his leg. The one that looked like a human’s leg just after a six-year-long cast came off. The injury that she found herself thinking about, imagining scenarios for.

He had to have lost it. Her bite on his arm, which she’d caught him peering down at with an almost affectionate expression – an expression that she might prize even over a rare hug – was rapidly healing. Yet he continued to limp. He must be completely regenerating it.