Gabriel fell eerily silent, listening. He ducked his head as he did, hiding his face behind the shadow of his ball cap. Hannah wondered if she and Jules should make a run for it right about now, but she figured Gabriel could easily catch them.
“Tell my mother it wasn’t me,” he said finally. Gone was the growling menace. He sounded shaken and … hurt? His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I’ll find the bastard who’s responsible. And he’ll pay for what he did. Dearly.”
He flipped the phone closed and tossed it at Hannah. Her hands were so numb she barely managed to save it from landing in an icy puddle.
She didn’t have a hell of a lot of information, but little bits and pieces started lining up in her mind. Ian Squires had lured Jules to Baltimore. Supposedly because he wanted revenge for Jules getting him kicked out of Philadelphia. It had always sounded like a flimsy motivation. And on paper, it looked like the house Camille lived in was Ian’s. Gabriel and his mother had fought—a friction that apparently was unusual for them. Then suddenly, Camille was attacked by a band of unknown fledglings who claimed to be working for Gabriel. What better way to make sure mother and son stayed apart, unable to defend one another?
“Squires wants to take over the city,” Hannah said, sure she was right. Both Jules and Gabriel turned to her. “That’s why he lured you down here, Jules. He thought you’d sic the Guardians on him, and Camille is living in his house.”
Gabriel’s eyes glittered in the darkness. “That traitorous, conniving dog! I told Mother we should have killed him the moment he came slinking back to Baltimore.” His voice was deadly quiet. “Ian thinks he’s suffered at my hands. He has no idea what suffering is. But I’ll show him.” He turned to Jules. “This isn’t over between us, Guardian.”
Then, he disappeared.
14
THE RIDE BACK TO the Harborside Inn was a tense and quiet one, the silence broken only by the plinking sound of sleet on the windshield and the chatter of Hannah’s teeth. She had the heat on full blast, but it did nothing to warm her.
Beside her, Jules brooded. Storms brewed in his eyes. The muscles of his jaw stood out in sharp relief as he ground his teeth.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she tried as they waited at a red light. Jules ignored her.
What was going on in that handsome head of his? She doubted it was anything good. If only she knew how to reach him …
She sighed and focused her attention on driving. The roads were slick as hell, and she didn’t want to end up wrapped around a lamppost.
Back at the hotel, she found a parking space—legal, this time—and she and Jules skated down the sidewalk toward the doorway. The icy weather had chased all the predators inside, leaving the streets almost deserted. The fresh dousing left Hannah shivering even more violently. She’d never been this cold in all her life.
By the time they entered their room, Jules still hadn’t spoken a word, but Hannah was too damn cold to care.
“I’m getting out of these wet clothes,” she said, yanking open a drawer and pulling out dry clothes at random. Jules nodded mutely.
Never had it felt so good to get out of her clothes! Hannah draped each dripping item over the shower rail, then rubbed herself all over with one of the sandpaper-rough off-white towels the hotel provided. But even when she tucked herself into her warm, soft sweater and fleecy sweatpants, the shivering didn’t stop. She was chilled to the goddamn bone.
Clenching her teeth to stop the chattering, she exited the bathroom to find a shocking sight: Jules had already changed, leaving his wet clothes piled in a heap on the floor. Man, he must really be in bad shape! He was standing in front of the window, back turned to her, staring out at nothing. Feeling like a bit of a dork, but unable to help herself, she picked up his wet clothes and carried them to the bathroom, making room on the shower rail for them. She was caught somewhere between arousal and amusement when she found the Speedo-sized black briefs. The image of him in those briefs brought a flush of warmth. Oh brother! She was incorrigible.
He was still standing in front of the window when she returned. She couldn’t resist walking up behind him and laying a hand on his shoulder.
“You all right?” she asked, not entirely sure what was bugging him.
He nodded briskly but didn’t answer. He was giving off an unmistakable leave-me-alone vibe. If he were any other man, she would have let him stew, but every once in a while, she thought she was actually reaching him, and that meant she had to keep trying.
“Come on, Jules. Talk to me. What’s eating you?”
He licked his lips. A nervous gesture she found disturbingly erotic. “I’m thinking Ian is fair game now.”
She groaned. That was the last thing she was expecting him to say. “Don’t be an idiot. Again.”
He didn’t look at her. “I came here to kill Ian. Now he’s not under Camille and Gabriel’s protection anymore.”
She put her hand on his back, feeling the solid, tense muscles under his crisp cotton shirt. He closed his eyes at her touch. Pleasure, she guessed, though he didn’t relax any. She pressed harder against one of the knots in his shoulder. He hissed softly, but she didn’t think it was an unhappy sound. She put both hands into action, trying without spectacular success to knead the tension out of his muscles. Her body warmed in that telltale way again, but right this moment, she didn’t care. She met Jules’s gaze, reflected back at her from the window.
“Why don’t you come sit down,” she suggested, her voice low. “I’ll be able to get more leverage if I don’t have to reach up so high.”
His shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, then he gently pulled away and turned around. “You don’t have to take care of me, Hannah.” Despite his words, his expression was soft and warm.
Without realizing she was going to do it, without meaning to do it, she reached out with both hands and laid them tentatively against his chest. The wall of solid male muscle that met her touch dispelled the last of her chill. When she explored the breadth of his chest, her fingers brushed over hardened nipples.
“Hannah—”
“Shh,” she said, reaching up to lay a finger over his lips. His eyes were huge and dark, their warm cinnamon color hidden by the black of his pupils. His lips parted under her finger, and she caught a glimpse of his fangs. Her heart stuttered.
Jules opened his mouth and enveloped her finger, his tongue stroking the tip. Warmth turned to heat. He sucked her finger deeper into his mouth, his head moving back and forth so she felt the delicate prick of his fangs. A chill of fear, followed by another rush of heat.
He released her finger. She was unable to tear her eyes away from his, but it wasn’t glamour that kept their eyes locked. He pressed his body close to hers. A gasp of desire escaped her when she felt the flaming hot length of his erection against her. His lips came down on hers. For the span of several heartbeats, she felt him trying to keep the kiss light, holding back. She wriggled her body against the length of his, and his tenuous self-control snapped.
The gentle kiss turned into a savage one, his lips pressed bruisingly hard against hers. His tongue thrust into her mouth. He buried one hand in her hair and tugged her head back so he could get a better angle. She groaned as desires warred within her, the desire to escape his rough handling beaten down by the desire to stay right where she was. Her arms wrapped around him and she sucked hard on his tongue. When his tongue started thrusting rhythmically in and out of her mouth, she thought for a moment she was going to come from nothing more than a kiss.
Jules tore his mouth from hers, releasing his grip on her hair and shoving her away from him hard enough to make her stumble. Her breath came in frantic gasps and her mouth dropped open in shock as she wondered how he could possibly stop.
The answer was simple: he couldn’t.
His hands shook as he started unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes still locked with hers. Halfway through the task, he muttered a curse and tore the rest of the buttons free. She dro
pped her eyes to drink in the sight of his sculpted chest, lightly dusted with auburn hair. She wanted to touch him, wanted to taste him, but her feet were rooted to the floor and she could only stand and watch as he whipped his belt open.
What was the matter with her? If she was about to go to bed with him, she should at least be taking her clothes off. Doing something, not just standing here gaping like an idiot. And yet gape was what she did when he shoved his trousers and briefs down and stepped out of them.
He was so hard the tip of his penis strained upward toward his belly. He was so large, she knew there would be some pain as she stretched to accommodate him.
He took a step toward her and she tore her eyes away from his erection. What she saw on his face scared the shit out of her.
He wasn’t just walking toward her. He was stalking her, a predator chasing down his prey. His fangs were bared, his eyes black with desire. Hannah heard her own breath sawing in and out of her lungs, felt how her body trembled in reaction to the threat. But for all that, moisture pooled between her legs, and deep inside she knew she was perfectly safe. Even so, she took a step backward, a futile attempt at retreat.
Jules smiled broadly, a feral smile that chilled and warmed in equal measure. Then, he was on her.
He moved so fast she didn’t even have a chance to get her hands up in a defensive gesture. His body crashed into hers and he propelled them both onto the bed. She landed with a startled squeak, Jules on top of her, though he caught most of his weight on his elbows to keep from crushing her.
Another bruising kiss as with one hand he wrestled with the knot on her sweatpants. Her heart thudded against her breastbone, and Hannah realized with a jolt of near-terror that once again he was holding her completely helpless.
The knot slipped open, and Jules yanked her sweatpants and panties down. With a little cry of distress, she tried to hold him off. Pointless. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them. She whimpered as he kissed her again, sure he was about to plunge into her, no longer so sure she wanted him to.
No matter her doubts, when his tongue demanded entrance, she opened her mouth. She couldn’t help it. It just felt too damn good, whether she appreciated his technique or not.
The kiss seemed to last for hours, his tongue exploring every millimeter of her mouth in great detail. His erection rubbed and pressed on her wet, achy core, but he didn’t push in, merely tormented her with his exquisite strokes. Her hips strained upward toward him, yearning for the completion he denied her. He positioned himself at her entrance, then tore his mouth away from hers. She cried out in protest.
“I want to watch your face when I take you,” he growled, his words made indistinct by his fangs.
A tremor passed through her entire body. This was so wrong. He was holding her down, had her wrists pinned to the mattress. He was being rough and brutish, threatening her with his fangs. She should be telling him to get the hell off of her. Adrenaline surged through her veins, the fear mixing with her desire in an intoxicating, confusing cocktail.
Then, he filled her with one hard thrust.
A cry ripped from her throat, and her back arched. There was a tingle of pain as he stretched her, but her desire softened it and she lifted her legs to wrap them around his hips.
His eyes devoured her face as he pounded into her. No slow buildup, not now, not with him. He growled deep in his throat, a strangely inhuman sound, raising the hairs on the back of her neck even as she moaned in pleasure. When his tongue started playing with one of his fangs, her paradoxical fear peaked.
“You’re not going to bite me, right?” she gasped.
A frown briefly puckered his brow. “Of course not.”
That small reassurance was all she needed. She gave in to the pleasure, let the sensations overwhelm her until even his hold on her wrists felt good. Walls cracked, a seismic shift inside her. She surrendered. Jules filled her mouth with his tongue just in time to swallow her scream of release.
The aftershocks of her orgasm were still shaking her when Jules came, his face a mask of pleasure that looked almost like pain. His hips continued to thrust slowly, languidly afterward as he lowered his forehead to touch hers. His breath was hot against her face, and she closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of him and the musk of their lovemaking.
It wasn’t until he let go of her wrists that she came back to herself. The thought of what he’d just done to her, what she’d let him do to her, brought a shiver. His body still weighed hers down, kept her trapped. Fighting a wave of panic, she put her hands on his chest and pushed.
“Give me some air,” she gasped, hoping he thought her breathlessness was just from the sex.
Jules obliged, rolling off of her with a satisfied sigh. She quickly turned her back to him, clenching her teeth hard as another wave of panic crashed over her.
She hated men who were dominant in bed. She hated feeling helpless, trapped, out of control. She rubbed one aching wrist. He’d been rough with her, and she hadn’t uttered a word of protest. But, damn it, she wasn’t some meek little woman who let a man do whatever he wanted to in bed for his own pleasure! Sex was supposed to be an equal partnership, shared pleasure.
Yeah, Hannah, you just hated every minute of that.
To her shame, tears stung her eyes. She clenched her teeth harder, willing the tears not to spill. What did it mean about her that she’d let Jules dominate her? That she’d liked it?
The mattress shifted as Jules rolled over behind her, his spectacular body spooning hers. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer.
And suddenly, Hannah couldn’t bear to be held for another minute. She struggled out from under his arm, trying for an orderly retreat when her body demanded headlong flight. Jules grumbled a protest but let go. She practically leapt out of bed and had to force herself not to sprint for the bathroom.
“Hannah?” Jules asked, his voice full of concern.
But she couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him, couldn’t even turn to face him or he’d see the tears that trickled down her cheeks despite her best efforts. She rushed through the bathroom door and slammed it behind her, locking it and plastering her back against it. She slid down until her butt hit the cold tile, then wrapped her arms around her knees and really cried for the first time in years.
APPARENTLY A HUNDRED YEARS, give or take, wasn’t enough time for a man to understand women, Jules mused as he swung his legs out of bed.
Hannah had given him every indication that she’d enjoyed what he was doing, even though he was rather shocked at his own behavior. He’d never been like that with a woman before, always priding himself on his ability to inflict slow, sensual torment on his partners. Tonight, he’d been out of control, wild with lust, the beast within him taking charge.
That’s what I get for being celibate for so damn long, he thought. No question about it, he and celibacy were not meant for each other.
He approached the bathroom door tentatively. Maybe Hannah knew what was best for herself and needed a little time alone. Certainly he could understand her feeling a bit overwhelmed by what had just happened. Or maybe she needed a little tenderness, some proof that he truly was a man and not a beast. He honestly didn’t know.
A sharp pain stabbed through his chest when he heard the sound of muffled tears. Hannah was crying? Guilt swamped him and he laid both hands against the door, a knot tightening in his throat.
“Hannah?” he said, his voice showing the strain. “Hannah, are you all right?”
“I’m fine!” she called, but there was no missing the lie.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a brute. Did I hurt you?” If he had, she sure as hell hadn’t given him any indication of it.
“I’m fine, Jules,” she repeated, her voice a little steadier.
“Why don’t you come out so we can talk?”
“I don’t need a nursemaid. Just leave me alone for a bit.”
He swallowed hard, her rebuff hurting more than it had an
y right to. She’d never been too thrilled about the obvious chemistry between them. Obviously, she was shaken because the chemistry had overruled her conviction that sleeping with him would be a bad idea.
Understanding didn’t make the pain go away. He wanted her in his arms, wanted to revel in the pleasure they’d shared and not think about the consequences. But right now, it wasn’t just the closed door that separated them.
“You don’t need to hide out in the bathroom,” he said, sounding far calmer than he felt. “I’ll go take a walk so you can have the room to yourself.”
He expected her to protest, remind him that it was sleeting out and that they were in a dangerous neighborhood. She said nothing.
Stung once again, Jules pulled on his clothes and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME, Drake wished he’d gotten out of Baltimore when he’d had the chance. He paced the length of the “guest room” where Camille had ensconced him for the night while she prepared a plan to hunt down and kill her own son. The door and the windows were reinforced with iron, keeping him thoroughly trapped despite his strength.
He wasn’t sure why she was keeping him here anymore, but he supposed it was some way of striking back at Eli. As Gabriel had requested, Drake had delivered his plea of “not guilty,” but Camille had instantly dismissed it. No doubt she was blaming Eli and the Guardians for her son’s desertion. Which was wishful thinking, for if Gabriel really was the culprit, he had obviously created his fledgling army long before Drake and Jules had set foot in Baltimore. Something Camille no doubt didn’t wish to accept.
Drake’s phone rang. When he checked the caller ID and saw that it was Eli, he debated whether to answer or not. He still needed more time to absorb the distasteful truth about the man he had once admired so greatly. But he wasn’t ready to give up all that the Guardians and Eli had given him in a fit of anger, so he answered.