By hunting down his parents’ killers, he’d transformedhimself from prey into predator once again. And perhaps his utter ruthlessness and towering determination in doing so—acentury, dear gods—or the cold, sneering satisfaction in his tone when he spoke of the fae couple’s fate should frighten her.
They didn’t. She couldn’t seem to drum up much sympathy for the prey in question.
“Why didn’t you kiss me good night?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. At some point in the last several minutes, her brain-to-mouth filter had apparently flicked a two-finger farewell salute and hitched a ride to parts unknown.
He sounded impatient. “I told you. You need sleep.”
“A two-second kiss would hardly delay my—”
“I wouldn’t stop after two seconds, Edie.” His voice was a near snarl, the press of his erection against her ass steely. “You know that.”
“You’d fuck me.” Not a question. A statement.
“I’d fuck you.” His grip on her hip held her in place as he rolled his own hips, the grinding motion liquid. Sinuous. Taunting. “If you said yes, my Edie, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t remember how it felt without ma bite inside you.”
Her thighs squeezed together, and it only made matters worse. “I’d say yes.”
“Iknow,” he snapped. “Which is why I’m not kissing you good night.”
After a minute of fraught silence, she said, “I assumema bitemeans your dick.”
“You assume correctly.”
She thought back to earlier that day, fighting the urge to slide a hand—hers, his; either was fine—between her legs. “What doesma pucemean?”
“ ‘My flea.’ ” When she twisted her neck to scowl at him, he petted her upper arm soothingly. “It’s a term of endearment.”
“Sure it is.” She flopped her head back onto his left biceps. “As opposed to an intimation that I’m an irritating pest.”
“Can’t it be both?” His laughter shook them both, and she bit back her own smile. “We vampires have an affinity for bloodsuckers, sweet Edie. And either way, you must be under my skin, no?”
Her exaggeratedharrumphmade him laugh again. As she’d hoped it might.
She hadn’t meant to bicker with him about kissing, fucking, or fleas, but the discussion had served them well. All the anger and lingering grief had drained from his voice. His body no longer resembled a granite monolith at her back, and he wasn’t vibrating with tension anymore.
As he kept leisurely stroking her arm, she relaxed too, letting his hold and the cushions support her full weight. The ache of unsatisfied desire gradually diminished, and she sighed against the muscled curve of his satiny skin and snuggled closer.
“Do you have nightmares too?” she asked quietly. “About your parents?”
“Not about them.” His exhalation tickled her scalp. “Not anymore.”
That wording…it implied he did have nightmares, at least on occasion. But if those terrible dreams didn’t feature his parents, what were they about? What in the world could possibly be more traumatic than watching the murder of your family?
Her mouth opened to ask. Then closed again, slowly.
She didn’t have the heart to pry any further tonight. Not after he’d already shared so much of himself and such a painful part of his past with her.
When she remained silent, he gathered her closer. His right hand slowly slid to her chest, as it had earlier that day. His palm came to rest over her heart, his fingertips light and cool on the swell of her breast.
He couldn’t surround her completely. She was too generously proportioned for that. But he’d curled himself around her like armor, and at the first sign of trouble, he’d leap in front of her. Exactly as he’d done earlier that day.
She hadn’t even thanked him.
“I thought we were going to die today,” she whispered. “More than once. Thank you for making sure that didn’t happen.”
The tablecloths surrounding them rustled as he shrugged. “I could say the same to you.”
