A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark #2)(43)
Author: Kresley Cole

When she skimmed around a column, her palm caught a large splinter. In the past, she would’ve howled from the pain. Now she sighed. Everything’s relative. Compared to having her chest ploughed like a vegetable patch, this was a mere annoyance.

She tilted her head and stared at the sliver, frowning as a memory flooded her. She must have dreamed of him again. Today.

When she’d slept, she’d seen their last…sexual encounter, from his point of view.

As she stared at the small trickle of blood around the white wood, she went awash in the dream, feeling splinters from the headboard digging into his palms as he crumbled it. But he didn’t care about the pain. He had to keep his hands there. Had to.

His need to touch her warred with his desire to earn her trust. Emma felt how strongly he’d wanted to put his hands on her – felt the lust welling up in him, the urge to thrust against her – and admitted to herself that if the situation had been reversed, she’d have said, "Screw it," and pawed him.

Now she grew dizzy, overwhelmed by the sheer hunger he’d felt, confused that she saw the hotel’s patterned ceiling as he threw his head back, struggling not to come.

But her hair brushed over him, and her hips bucked relentlessly against him, and her br**sts pressed into his chest. He felt her sucking him greedily and knew it was over…

She swayed as she suddenly left the memory, then blinked.

He’d acted honorably. He’d kept his word even under that onslaught of need. Now she wanted to go back to that night and give him what he’d desperately needed. But she couldn’t, because it was just a dream. Or a memory. She fell from the rail. Instinct landed her on her haunches, yet she sank to the ground just after.

Just like the dream of the necklace.

She was going mad. Like Nïx, who saw things that she shouldn’t.

Lachlain, what have you done to me?

There she sat in the wet grass in a strange country with the stars above off-kilter as though the world had dropped a notch. With no one to confide her suspicion to.

Emma didn’t return at dawn.

The guards had watched her return to the house and protected the entrances afterward, but it had taken a frantic hour before Lachlain found her curled up, asleep under the stairs in a broom closet. Had she known that the ammonia and polishes stored there would cloak her scent from him?

Now he gnashed his teeth to find her shivering in the dust, his worry turning to ire in an instant. "Goddamn it, Emma," he snapped, scooping her up. What in the hell had she been thinking? He would lay down the rules, and, by God, she would –

Sun flooded the hallway, and he shoved them into a corner, covering her with his body. "Shut the f**king door!"

"My apologies," a familiar voice drawled from behind him as the door closed. "Dinna know there were going to be vampires about. You should have a sign."

Back in the low light, Lachlain turned to find Bowen, his oldest friend. His pleasure at seeing him dimmed when he noticed how much more weight Bowe had lost. Once Lachlain’s size, he was now rangy and gaunt.

"And here I was surprised to see you alive, but looks like you’ve another surprise there." Bowe approached, rudely inspecting Emma as she lay in Lachlain’s arms, picking up her hair and chucking her chin. "Wee beauty. Bit dirty."

"From sleeping under the stairs this morning." Lachlain shook his head, incapable of understanding her. "Meet Emmaline Troy. Your queen."

Bowe raised his eyebrows, demonstrating the most emotion Lachlain had seen from him since his mate had left him. "A vampire queen? Fate must hate you." More examination while Lachlain scowled. "Her ears are pointed?"

"She’s half-Valkyrie," Lachlain explained. "Raised in a coven of them and kept from the Horde."

"Then things around here just got interesting," Bowe said, but he displayed little interest.

Emmaline shivered and buried her face in Lachlain’s chest.

Bowe studied him. "Doona think I’ve ever seen you look so exhausted. Go bathe your freezing, wee…valkire and get some sleep." Though it was not yet eight in the morning, he added, "I’ll help myself to whiskey."

Lachlain was out of his bloody mind, Bowe concluded by late that afternoon.

As he poured another scotch, thinking and drinking, Bowe admitted to himself that he should be the last one to doubt a mate being other, but this was too far-fetched. No two species were greater foes than the vampires and the Lykae, yet Lachlain thought to take one, or a halfling born of one, as his queen?

Wherever he’d been for the last one hundred and fifty years had clearly warped his brain…

Bowe raised his face, briefly distracted by the scents wafting from the busy kitchens. All who worked here were preparing for the rising of the full moon, cleaning, cooking in abundance, readying to vacate the castle. The smells from the ovens were just as he remembered from growing up here. In fact, the kitchens had been his favorite place. Now he frowned, trying to recall the last time he’d eaten. Perhaps he should commandeer the vampire’s share of the food. She wouldn’t miss it –

Lachlain greeted him with a censorious expression as he finally returned to the study. "Christ, man, you’ve been at it since morn?"

"Can I help it? Kinevane always kept the best liquor. Nothing’s changed." Bowe poured a glass to the rim for Lachlain.

Lachlain accepted it, then sank down behind his desk, somehow appearing more exhausted than before, though his clothes were rumpled as if he’d just woken. And he had a nick on his neck. No. No way he’d allow that depravity. What the hell has gotten into him? Giving it a second thought, Bowe slid the decanter over the desktop to him as well.

When Lachlain raised his eyebrows, Bowe said, "Have a feeling you’ll need it when you tell me where the bloody hell you’ve been that we could no’ find you for decades." Bowe noticed he sounded angry. As if he blamed Lachlain for his disappearance.

"You never would have found me. No more than I was able to find Heath," Lachlain said, his voice deadened as usual when he spoke of his youngest brother.

Bowe shook his head, remembering Heath. Hot-tempered to a fault, he’d set off to avenge his father’s death, not comprehending that those who set out to kill Demestriu didn’t return. Lachlain had refused to believe he was dead. "You were in Helvita?"

"For a while."

"He was no’ there?"

Lachlain’s expression was bare – pure pain. "The Horde…dinna take him alive."

"I’m sorry, Lachlain." After a long moment, Bowe frowned and broke the silence. "You said, ‘for a while.’ "

"Then Demestriu decided on the catacombs."