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She didn’t know, but she did understand that urge—that need—to avenge someone you love. “Luke,” she began, softly, hesitantly, “what did he do to Tasha?”
He stiffened, silent, and for a moment she feared he wouldn’t answer. Then he stood, crossed the room and faced the hard stone wall.
“I witnessed nothing,” Luke said, but the sharp edge to his voice told a different story.
“Did he come to her? Seduce her? Take advantage of a girl who didn’t understand what was happening to her?”
“Sara—” His voice held both warning and pain.
“Mitigating circumstances, Luke,” she said, moving forward and pressing her hands to his shoulders. “If there are circumstances, you need to raise them in court.”
“Will you stand now as my defense attorney?”
“Dammit, Luke, let me help you. My goal is not a stake to your heart. I’m looking for the truth.”
“Truth is often elusive, and some debts are best paid outside the bounds of the law.”
Her chest constricted, knowing that she’d just heard as close to a confession as would ever cross his lips. He’d killed Marcus Braddock. And yet she didn’t want him going down. Not if there was a defense, a way to save him. “If he was harming Tasha…” She trailed off, giving him an opportunity to speak, to latch on to the defense. He was silent.
She rubbed her fingers on her temples. “Luke, please. Tell me what happened. Don’t go down hard if you don’t have to.”
“I have nothing to say.” He turned to face her. “And anything I have said here today cannot be used against me.”
“No,” she agreed. “It can’t. But if you work with me, maybe we can get the charges reduced, even dismissed. At the very least, we can get you out on bail.”
He turned around, and she was surprised to see that he was smiling. “I have the utmost faith in your system,” he said. “This evening, I will have bail.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t count on it, Luke. I play to win.”
“A wager, then,” he said, both heat and amusement lacing his voice. “If I am released, I want you in my bed.”
“You won’t win,” she said, though she couldn’t deny that part of her desperately, deeply, hoped he did.
* * *
The girl lay on the floor, ripe and ready. Fourteen years old. This one long and lean. An athletic build, with strong hips and breasts that were just beginning to ripen.
Delicious.
The girl stirred slightly in sleep, and Xavier pressed a hand to her forehead. “Calm now,” he said, his caress soft. Soothing.
It wouldn’t do for her to fear him, not when she was giving him the gift of blood. The gift of becoming.
Across the small basement room, his Dark Angel stood watching, her gaze fixed on the girl’s face. “Drain this one, and the light will surely fill you.”
He bowed his head in deference. “Will you feed, too, Angel?”
“I feed,” she said. “You feed.” Her mouth drew into a thin smile. “We will have a feast.”
Beneath him, the girl stirred; the drugs were wearing off. Good. It was better when they were awake. Asleep, and they seemed dead. Awake, and he could watch the life flow from the child to him.
He stroked her neck with his fingertip. “Wake up, wake up. It’s time for the gift. Time for the light.”
He turned his head, looking at his Angel. “This one is all for me?”
She laughed, delighted. “How will you make the wound?”
It was a problem. His teeth were not sharp like hers. Not yet. Not until he proved himself worthy. And though he could rip and tear at her flesh, that would spoil the beauty of the soft, sweet skin.
