The Heat

  To that, his smile kicked up a notch and one of his brows rose in admiration. He pushed away from the bed and strode to the stand against the wall where the liquor waited.

  “I see the submissive effects of Kane’s mark are wearing off.” He unstopped one of the fine bottles and poured a bit of very red wine into one of the waiting goblets. Then he turned and slowly lifted the goblet to his lips.

  Above the rim of the glass, his emerald eyes glittered, watching her carefully.

  She stared back. For a few seconds. And then she had to look away. But she had to admit that he was probably right. She felt much braver, much more in control of her faculties at the moment than she had the day before. So, as she stared steadfastly at the white plush rug, she repeated her question in the form of a statement. “I would like to know how old you are.” Then, after biting her lip in hesitation, she looked back up and added, “Please.”

  At that, Cole’s smile became a grin, perfect white teeth flashing over the glass as he lowered it and placed it back on the small table. “You are stunning, did you know that?” Cole asked her as he moved away from the wall and strode slowly toward her. Lily watched him move; it was the way a predator moved – measured and deliberate and graceful. Her heartbeat sped up. She knew he could hear it and that pissed her off a little. It was like being with someone who could read her mind.

  She forced herself not to retreat. It was a brave act coming from someone in nothing but a sheet.

  “To answer your question, I am ninety-four years old as of last October.” His accented voice soothed her nerves and woke them up at the same time.

  “Did you serve in World War Two?” she asked then.

  At this, he drew to a stop and cocked his head to one side, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Why do you ask, luv?”

  She cleared her throat. The air was getting thick, it seemed. She glanced down at the bands on his wrists. She remembered the markings.

  “Why do you wear those wrist bands?” she asked next.

  Cole studied her for a long, silent moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out through his nose. Then he slowly crossed his arms over his chest once more. “You’re full of questions this morning, Lily.” He scrutinized her for a few more long, tense moments, and she knew his green gaze was taking in every one of her breaths, every twitch of her lips, every flick of her eyes.

  Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. He uncrossed his arms and moved to the window at the opposite end of the room, keeping precious distance between them. He placed his hands above his head on the window frame and leaned on them casually, his gaze lost in the distance.

  “Yes, I served in World War Two. And as to your other question,” he glanced at her over his broad shoulder. “I’m filled to the brim with curiosity as to what would make you wonder about such a thing, luv.” He smiled. “They’re only decoration.”

  “Not for you,” Lily insisted. She was impressed with her strength this morning. Daniel’s mark had really taken the best out of her the day before. “They’re something more for you, aren’t they?” She trusted her dreams. As far as Daniel and Malcolm Cole were concerned, they hadn’t lied to her yet.

  Something distinctly dangerous flashed in Cole’s eyes. His gaze darkened. He straightened and strode toward her once more, this time with purpose. He didn’t stop until he stood directly before her, a hand’s-breadth away.

  Lily thought her heart would leap right out of her chest at that moment. Or maybe climb up out of her throat and fly away. Either way, it hammered so hard that it hurt.

  “Is there something you wish to tell me, Lily? Because if there is, I suggest you spit it out.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it still wrapped around her like black magic.

  She tried to breathe, tried to steady her nerves. She was getting dizzy. Yet she fought for the will to ask one more question. “Do you speak German, Cole?”

  There was no change in his expression. His pupils had expanded slightly with his nearness. “Since you seem to have forgotten,” he said, “my name is Malcolm.” Though he still spoke softly, there was more force in his words. It was blatant and tangible. She could feel it embrace her, like a velvet cloak.

  She had no reply. She could no longer speak. Submissive effects or not, his nearness was simply overwhelming. She cursed herself when warmth raced across her belly and pooled between her legs. Her mind did not want to respond to this man.

  But her body felt differently.

  His pupils continued to expand, though his expression still remained dark. Almost angry. “Drop the sheet, Lily,” he commanded.

  Her eyes widened. She felt like she was a crop of ripe wheat before the reaper when she shook her head. Just a little.

  “Lose it,” he commanded again. “Or I will help you lose it.” His pupils expanded completely, until his eyes were deep pools of endless black. It was the hungriest look Lily had ever seen. Weakness coursed through her muscles, sedating her blood. And yet, she held the sheet in her tightly trembling fingers. Stubborn to the end.

  Cole’s movements were slow and calculated. He raised his right hand until it hovered over her collar bone, his eyes never releasing hers. Gently, his fingers grazed the smooth skin as he brushed a long lock of golden hair from her shoulder and it dropped behind her to cascade down her back.

  Lily gasped at the contact. The mark on her arm began to heat up. She remembered the pain that it could cause and she found her voice. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t touch me.”

  Cole gazed deep into her soul, a demon cornering an angel. “Drop the sheet.”

  She shuddered as he then softly trailed the backs of his fingers across her chest to the swell of her breast, just above where she was clutching the sheet so tightly around her. She moaned against the fire that now throbbed in her arm – and the need that throbbed much lower. Ashamed, she pulled her gaze from his and nodded her compliance.

  He stepped back.

  Lily released another shaky breath and then dropped the sheet, exposing herself to his black gaze. A chill instantly rushed through her and she hugged herself.

  And then he was upon her and she was being slammed back against the wall, his hand around her throat, his lips to her ear.

  She cried out on impact, but was silenced as his grip tightened, cutting off her cry. His body was pressed hard against hers and she could feel the rock-hard bulge in his jeans that forced itself so promisingly against her wetness.

  Wave after wave of painful need and, from her arm, just plain pain washed over her. Tears gathered in her brown-gold eyes.

  “When Kane’s mark no longer stains your arm, I am going to sink my teeth into your throat and drink you in,” he told her, his tone harsh and animalistic. She moaned as he spoke. The pain was becoming unbearable, as was her desire. She found herself arching against him, wanting to have sex – to fight – to do anything but stand there, a prisoner beneath him, and be filled to the point of madness with hurt and desire.

  He growled into her ear and squeezed harder, cutting off a little more air. The lack of oxygen only heightened her sexual craving. Her nails pressed into his chest, digging deep, twisting the fabric of his shirt beneath them.

  “I am going to mark you and change you and then fuck you for days – for weeks,” he promised. “Until you beg me to stop,” he continued, “until you’re bleeding.” He growled again, long and low. He moved so that his lips hovered just above hers and his words licked at her sensitive skin, hot and promising. “And then I’ll drink that blood too.”

  In all of this madness, in all of this suffering, the most painful thing for Lily St.Claire, social worker and all-around good-girl was – she liked it. She wanted this. Her mind rebelled at the truth, but there it was. She wanted him to hurt her. She wanted the anger, the violence.

  She realized, in that strangely lucid moment, that there was a great big, chasm-like difference between the violence of an overweight, pot-bellied man who beat his wife – and the violence that cam
e when a man wanted a woman, and a woman wanted a man and that need filled them both with a harsh, relentless fire.

  Malcolm Cole’s fire was roaring at that moment. She could feel it in his sizzling touch. She could feel it riding his waves of wolfen power. She could hear it in his voice – and see it in his eyes.

  She was trapped in that gaze. And there really was fire there. Small red flames of it, coming to life in the centers of his ebony pupils. She was mesmerized by it.

  Malcolm stared back at her, his breathing harsh, his body trembling with a need that she somehow knew was worlds worse than her own. And then, in a protracted and painful act that resembled peeling duct tape off of an open wound, he began to move away from her. An inch. Then two.

  His grip on her throat lessened. Air flooded her lungs, making her dizzy. She closed her eyes. He stepped back slowly, removing his body from hers. Eventually she felt his hand leave her neck and she opened her eyes. He stood a foot away from her, gazing down at her through eyes that remained ominously black.

  With the safety of this small distance came a regained strength for Lily. She fought to repossess some semblance of her sanity. Her body felt as if it were on fire, her right arm, literally. She glanced down at it to see the blue mark glowing angrily. She had to get Cole out of her head.

  I have to get him out of my head!

  She looked back up at him and forced the most repulsive, unattractive thought through her mind that she could muster. He was a Nazi, she told herself. A Nazi!

  She wasn’t actually certain, deep down, if that was true. He was British. And the dream had been a thoroughly confusing one. He’d seemed to be two men at once. He’d cared enough about the woman’s life to feel for her pulse. She wasn’t certain about Cole at all.

  But, the thought of Nazis, in general, was sobering enough that it managed to do the trick. Her hunger and need receded like a waning tide, leaving her feeling cold and empty. She shivered beneath his black gaze and once more hugged herself.

  Then she watched as Cole’s pupils gradually dilated to normal, revealing the stark green of his irises once more. He knelt and lifted the sheet from the floor.

  His handsome face an unreadable mask, he held the sheet out for her. She hesitated for only a second before roughly yanking it out of his hand and holding it in front of her body like a shield.

  He answered this with a small, cynical smile. Then he turned away from her, strode to the liquor table and, ignoring the wine he’d previously poured for himself, he snatched up one of the bottles containing brown liquor and uncorked it, placing the entire bottle to his lips.

  Lily watched as he drank the liquid down, barely flinching against what had to be some very strong alcohol. She wrapped the sheet more tightly around her and decided that if she was going to get any answers out of Malcolm Cole, it was now or never.

  She took a deep, cleansing breath. “Where are my clothes?” she asked, putting some strength into her words.

  He lowered the bottle and, without looking at her, he said, “They are being cleaned. You have others to choose from in the closet to your left.”

  Lily turned to look at the door on the other side of the bed. It led to a closet.

  “Where is the bathroom?”

  “Across the hall. That restroom is reserved for your use alone.”

  Lily bit her lip and swallowed, preparing herself. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked then. This was the one she really wanted an answer to. She bore Kane’s mark. She couldn’t be claimed by Cole, no matter what he wanted. And Lily could sense that the witch had been left behind in Baton Rouge. So, what would he do? What could he do?

  “Barring the use of magic, a wolf’s mark remains on both a chosen mate and the wolf who marked her until one of two things happens,” Cole said as he once more turned to face her. At the same time, he grabbed a second bottle from the table, this one containing a liquor that was nearly clear. He uncorked it and continued. “Either he dies and his mark disappears,” he said, and then took a long swig of the alcohol. He gritted his teeth against this one; apparently it was a touch stronger. “Or she does, and though it doesn’t really matter at that point, the mark disappears.”

  Lily digested this information with a growing sense of unease. “You’re telling me that you’re planning on killing Daniel.” It wasn’t a question.

  “He’s on his way as we speak,” Cole confirmed, smiling a strange smile and taking another long pull from the bottle. When he placed it back on the table, his eyes were closed. Lily recognized that look. She knew the alcohol was burning its way through him. She wondered how much of an effect it would have on him. If she’d downed that much hard liquor, she would most certainly die of alcohol poisoning.

  But a werewolf? What did it take for one to get drunk?

  When Cole opened his eyes once more, they were so green, they were nearly glowing like traffic lights. He pushed away from the table and strode toward the door. “Don’t try to leave the cabin, Lily,” he told her without looking at her. He reached for the door knob and swung the door open. “It wouldn’t be worth it to you, luv. So….” He paused, as if considering something. Then, still not looking at her, he finished with, “Just don’t.”

  Then he left the room and closed the door behind him.

  Lily gave it a few seconds and then went to the door and listened. It was silent beyond. She pressed her back to the cool, painted wood and tried to straighten out her thoughts. If what Cole said was true, then Daniel was most likely walking – or running – into a well-laid trap. She had to warn him. She had to stop him.

  No matter what Cole threatened, Lily had to get out of that house.

  She shivered; an aftereffect of the endorphins that had flooded her system with Cole’s physical contact. She needed a shower. She was wet and sweat had broken out along her brow line and the stubborn part of her wanted to scrub Malcolm Cole off of her skin – scour him out of her head. She also wanted to masturbate about a hundred times, until she could no longer climax and could not possibly succumb to his malicious waves of sexual power ever again.

  She slid along the door, sinking until her bottom was on the floor, and closed her eyes. What can I do? She had nothing. No phone. No computer. And she was almost certain that she wouldn’t find them accessible to her in this house.

  But she still had herself. And she still wore Daniel’s mark.

  With that thought, she sighed and stood again. She didn’t necessarily want to waste any time, but the truth was, she was uncomfortable. She decided to take a quick shower to rinse off. It would give her time to come up with a plan.

  She went to the closet door and flung it open to reveal a massive walk-in closet, filled to the brim with clothes of every fashion and color. She let her sheet drop and stood there for a moment, registering what she was seeing. It sort of shocked her. Especially when she finally moved forward and pulled down the two dresses nearest to her. They were both in her size. They were highly expensive brands. She blinked a few times and then shoved her surprise aside. So, he’d prepared for her. Of course he had. He had preparation down to an art. Which was another reason she needed to warn Daniel.

  She dropped the dresses and at once began to search for jeans.

  She found a pair of Lucky’s and threw them over her arm and then began looking for underwear. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, she realized that there wasn’t any. With a narrowed gaze and a few muttered derogatory words about men in general, Lily proceeded to hunt down a T-shirt. She found a dark gray one with the HIM symbol on the front and added it to the jeans. She didn’t bother with a bra, because there weren’t any of those either.

  Then she looked at the assortment of available shoes. She shook her head in wonderment. What Cole had here, in this closet, would take every one of her paychecks for about a year. But the heels were out of the question. As were the sandals.

  Finally, she located what she really wanted and she couldn’t help but wonder what had made the m
an add the boots to her collection. Whatever it was, she was grateful. She picked up the pair of boots and found a new pair of white socks.

  She took her bundle to the door of her bedroom once more. And, again, she listened.

  No sounds. So, she opened it tentatively. The hall beyond stretched to either side and led to several more rooms and archways. The house was immense and exquisitely designed. Under different circumstances, she’d have loved a tour.

  Much different circumstances.

  She stepped out into the hall and turned the knob on the door across from hers. It opened to reveal a bathroom that was roughly the same size as the guest room. She stood there in the doorway for a moment, utterly blown away. It was gorgeous. Christ, she could have lived in that bathroom. Marble as far as the eye could see. A second window that peered out over New Mexico’s desert mountains. An open shower that had something like twelve different shower heads.

  She took it all in. And then she shook herself and stepped in, shutting and locking the door behind her.

  * * * *

  Malcolm smiled to himself when he heard Lily lock the bathroom door. Did she really think that could stop him? He shook his head and ran a hand through his dark hair, turning away from the liquor cabinet that he’d just visited for the second time in the last ten minutes.

  He knew it wouldn’t work. Not any more. Not any of it. He was stuck with the memories, stuck with the pain.

  He growled then suddenly, and swung around, shoving his fist through the wooden beam that stood beside him. When he pulled his arm back out, he smiled sardonically, glad that he’d had the house reinforced in such a way that it could withstand the beatings he so often put it through.

  And then he strode to the windows, stared out over the lands and eventually, as it always did, his gaze slid to the leather bands around his wrists. So many men wore these kinds of bands these days. They were stylish. He laughed a mirthless laugh. They were considered manly.