Chapter Ten
“I’m coming!” she shouted at the door. She could’ve been—almost was. Until someone had saved her from her traitorous body. What was it about Stryke that had her abandoning duties left and right? “Just stop the damn knocking.”
The pounding finally quieted. She sensed Creed on the other side.
She inhaled and held it for a second to steel herself for a whopper of a lecture. A demon. In her place. Having a damn sleepover.
She ripped the door open. “Creed.”
He backed up at the ferocity of her greeting.
“Just checking in. You haven’t called or reported to Demetrius.”
Oh shit, she hadn’t.
Creed narrowed his eyes. This time, she stepped back. Did he suspect she’d just been intimate?
“Is Stryke in there? With you?”
“It’s as good a place as any.” What a dumb answer.
He crossed his arms. She often forgot what an opposing figure he could be when he wanted. He usually avoided drawing attention to himself unless it was for his supposedly lackadaisical persona. But he was still in his black tactical gear, his hair swept off his forehead. A stunning male, just not one she was attracted to.
“We have a prison.”
As if she hadn’t thought of that. Thankfully, she had. “One with an electronic lock. And electric lights. He could stroll out anytime he wanted with the touch of a finger.”
Creed scowled.
“And there’s nowhere else to stash him without one of us babysitting him.”
“What about the host’s place you reported to us about?” He shot her a look like he’d busted her flimsy excuse.
“Hypna knew about it.” She checked over her shoulder. No sign of Stryke, but he was probably listening. It’s what she would do. “The host was killed,” she said quietly.
He shook his head, his expression flashing anger. “That demon is dangerous. He can’t be allowed to stay here. Not when we’re bringing in Grace’s family…and Melody.”
Zoey considered Creed. Genuine worry glimmered in his eyes. Creed didn’t want Grace’s family at risk, but he also wasn’t admitting that Melody’s safety was just as important to him.
Her guilt at stringing him along until she’d broken things off diminished. But she couldn’t rejoice. Melody was human, and while her celebrity crush on Creed was sweet and humorous, there was no chance for a serious romance. Long-term to a human meant a forty-year marriage, not a five-hundred-year mating.
And Creed was right. If they were bringing people here to protect, having Stryke under the same roof was bad planning.
“We’ll be gone by nightfall.” Maybe they’d need to get out of Freemont altogether. Where would they go? It had to be away from people Hypna could hurt.
Creed’s eyes flew wide. “We?”
“Hypna’s after me as much as she’s after him. We’ll both go together and distract Hypna until you can get Grace’s family and D’s parents to safety.”
Creed opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Like Zoey, he couldn’t think of a better plan. “Be safe.”
“Always.”
She let the door close. When she turned around, Stryke was leaning against her bedroom doorframe, blending into the shadows. His broad shoulders filled her doorway and his head came close to touching the top. Those stupid pants of his were cute as hell on his hard body and her arousal irritated her.
She steeled herself and walked toward him, only to veer off into her weapons room. She went to take off her tactical belt, but her fingers swiped air. With a burn of humiliation, she recalled Stryke had taken off the equipment during their make-out session.
Her core ignited with the anticipation the memory brought. She bent down, unhooked the knife holsters on her legs, and flung them aside. Disappointment with herself raged hot, displacing her desire.
The reasons why she couldn’t get close to Stryke kept piling up. He was an unknown, for one. Could they trust him? He’d tricked her into bonding with him. What if Mitchell had lived? It’s not like she and Mitchell would’ve just invited him into the mating. And so many people were threatened by Hypna’s obsession with the male. Grace’s parents, their two little boys, and Melody. Demetrius’s parents. Ophelia was out there, working undercover. Could Zoey even count her? Hypna and her worker bees would likely go for the easy targets.
Zoey stared at the grains in the hardwood floor. She should clean up. During her shower, she could figure out where she was going to sleep. Entering her bedroom again was a bad idea. She could wait until he was asleep and get some clean clothes. Maybe he’d lie down and pass out while she was in the bathroom so she didn’t have to put her crusty lake clothes back on.
She crossed the hall into the bathroom. Stryke had remained in the same spot, not saying a word. She slammed the door and methodically stripped down.
The room smelled like Stryke. His towel hung on the rack next to the shower. She glowered at it as she took the pins out of her bun.
The demon in her shower, using her towels, made him seem, made it all seem, so damn normal. The more he was around, the more he ingrained himself into her world and the more natural it felt. The more she wondered how empty her life would be without him.
No, she wasn’t a lonely, desperate female. She’d never been that girl. She’d grown up chafing in the dresses that were so common for females of her time and station. Even human women at the time had worn trousers, which had made it worse for her kind. She’d fallen in with Demetrius, and the idea of true mates hadn’t been for her, she’d had a job. She’d kept that job even when she’d found her unlikely true mate, and that job had saved her from heart-wrenching insanity when he’d passed.
Throwing her job away for a male wasn’t in her DNA. Not at all.
She stepped under the warm spray. The memory of the icy lake water rose, but she quashed it. She wasn’t cold anymore. She was well fueled with Creed’s blood and her electrolyte juice. That was all she needed. The void inside her was something she’d grown used to after her mate had died and she’d get used to it again.
Suds piled up as she massaged shampoo into her tresses. The weight of her hair was pleasant, a sensation she didn’t often feel since she was always working.
Rinsing the soap out of her hair, she froze when the door opened with a whoosh of cool air that snaked into the shower.
The door clicked shut, but she sensed his presence. His hulking form now leaned against the wall outside of the shower.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“No barriers.” He was infuriatingly calm.
No barriers? Was he fucking naked, too?
“I want to talk,” he continued. “Just you and me.”
“We can do that when I’m done with my shower,” she said between clenched teeth. And she had no intention of talking with him, or being in the same room. They’d have to leave together, but she’d be occupied with evasive tactics.
“After you’d finished in there, you would’ve gotten out, dried off, twisted that glorious hair of yours into another bun, and walked out with your armor in place. Your weapons might be stored away, but I know where your real strength is.”
She quit hiding behind the curtain and whipped it open, an angry retort on the tip of her tongue. His hungry gaze licked a path down her body and leisurely made its way back up. He still wore those ridiculous pants.
“You’re beautiful.”
The sincerity in those two words robbed her of breath. Most vampires didn’t draw the short straw in the looks department, but she wasn’t as voluptuous or as ethereal as many other females, especially prime females, who were supposedly raised with the best of the best. Many considered Zoey plain by vampire standards. Zoey had always considered herself adequate and above the notions of superficial creatures.
Until Stryke told her she was beautiful with both words and hungry looks.
Facing him without clothing was a bad idea. “Get out.”
He shrugged. “I’m here. Might as well chat.”
She shut the water off and reached for a towel, dismayed to find that she’d forgotten to grab a fresh one and the one he’d used was the only one available. Better than nothing. She wrapped it around herself and stepped out. His smoky scent lingered on the fabric and teased her. She stayed on the opposite side of her small bathroom, but he was blocking the exit.
“Just what do you want to chat about?”
“Why you’re stopping yourself from enjoying how good it can be between us.”
What had she expected—that he’d wanted to discuss the weather? Their plan to stop Hypna from targeting her friends’ families?
She squared her shoulders and met his violet gaze. “I’ve already done the mutually pleasurable thing and it didn’t work out. And I’m not jumping into bed with you because of the bond.”
His gaze turned smug. “You and I would be more than ‘mutually pleasurable,’ and the bond isn’t why you want me.”
She crossed her arms. “Why do I want you then?”
He crowded her. Out of self-preservation she backed up, but her butt hit the sink counter. “Because you’re starting to feel like you can be yourself around me.” His hot finger tapped her chest over her heart, making her body tingle. “Because deep down, you know I know you and you’ve seen how badly I want you and you like it.”
Indignation bubbled but faded as his heat seeped into her. “You don’t know anything.”
A sad smile touched his lips and kept her gaze riveted on his full mouth. “I know you.”
He wedged himself between her legs and she didn’t resist. The flannel was soft against her thighs and she craved the touch of his skin. He feathered his hand over her wet hair. “I can’t wait until this dries. Your hair has given me many long, painfully hard nights.”
Her legs spread wider. If he kept spilling sweet nothings, he wouldn’t have to move. She’d do all the work.
He leaned his head down closer. “I want to kiss you again, but I need to taste the rest of you.”
Her already loose towel fell away with little effort on his part. He closed a large hand around a breast and she arched into him. Addictive. All of him. His deep voice murmuring all the things he desired about her. His hot skin stroking hers. His hard erection pressing into her.
His other hand skimmed down her belly to her center. Damn her legs, they had a mind of their own. Her reasonable brain had shut off and she was nothing but a pleasure center waiting for ultimate satisfaction.
A calloused finger parted her folds and she released a needy moan and rocked into his hand.
He wore a cocky grin as he descended on the other breast. When he closed his lips around her nipple, she cried out. He lapped her with his tongue as his finger found her clit and began circling. She gripped the sides of the vanity for stability, her knuckles white. Part of her wanted to close her eyes and drown in the ecstasy, but his hard head with the tips of his horns peeking out was erotic as fuck. His hand disappeared between their bodies and stroked her to a fast release.
She matched him, rolling her hips almost frantically, her orgasm rising rapidly.
She never came this fast and he was barely trying. Humiliation took a backseat to the impending climax. There’d be time enough to berate herself for her reaction afterward, but she wanted this. She wanted something for herself.
He shoved his pants down and his cock bobbed against her leg. He removed his hand and placed himself at her entrance but didn’t press in. Releasing her nipple with a smack of his lips, he rose and met her gaze. The smoldering intensity only stoked her climax.
“I want to watch you when you come.” He shoved in halfway. She sucked in a breath at how the fullness felt so right. He backed out and she rocked into him as he surged forward.
Once he was fully seated and coated in her juices, they paused. She didn’t see a demon in front of her, but a very aroused male that enjoyed pleasuring his female. His female.
She almost embraced him but kept her hands planted, as if keeping part of herself away from him. He couldn’t have all of her. This was just an orgasm.
He began thrusting, fast and hard.
Not just any orgasm. It coiled inside her, tighter than other previous experiences. She hitched her legs up and he lifted them over his shoulders. Her breathing came in pants and the vanity shook with the force of their coupling.
“I want to feel you fall apart around me.”
She tightened her grip. The orgasm just grew, promising to demolish her when it hit. It didn’t help that his voice reverberated through his cock until she dissolved completely. She was putty, his for the taking, and he took her. Hard.
“Stryke!” Who was that needy female calling his name?
She bowed, needing to find her release. Her peak slammed into her and she tensed briefly before she shook in her climax.
He growled and went rigid as his pumps shortened and he spilled his release inside of her.
She cried out as wave after wave crashed into her and she clenched her inner muscles to milk every second of it. She jerked with the force and nailed her head on the mirror over the sink. The sounds of breaking glass filled the bathroom, but she didn’t care. She needed to finish her orgasm, needed to feel him as long as possible, more than she needed her next breath.
“Oh shit, Zoey.” His words came in breathless huffs as his climax waned. “Are you okay?”
Okay? She went limp. Only the shattered glass behind her and her legs on his shoulders kept her from rolling off the vanity.
Finger by finger, she released her grip on the counter. Dazed, she looked down to see it had fractured under the force.
Stryke gently lowered her legs and eased himself out of her. Instantly, she mourned the loss of him inside of her. Could they do this again? Those types of orgasms had to be once in a lifetime.
He gathered the towel from behind her as he drew her toward him. “You’re bleeding. Shit, are you hurt?”
She cautiously touched the back of her head. Warm, sticky blood covered her hand. She twisted around, still in his arms. The glass was more than spider-webbed. Shards had loosened where her head had ground into it.
Damn it, she’d probably given herself a ton of lacerations.
Stryke bunched the towel to the back of her head. “You’re really bleeding.”
Scalp wounds did that. She batted his hand away and put pressure on the towel.
Time for that berating.
She’d just started to ask herself what she’d been thinking when Stryke lifted her down and shuttled her toward the shower. He had a fresh towel in his hand.
“What are you—” Her question drifted off as he shucked his pants.
He wasn’t flaccid. He could take her again, and she’d let him. But instead, he helped her into the shower and rinsed the blood off them both.
Vulnerability wasn’t an emotion she felt in front of many people, but it was raging now. Only she also felt safe. She felt taken care of.
Why did she want to run?
***
Stryke rinsed them off and wrapped the towel around her. Her movements were hesitant as she exited the shower. The minor wounds in her head had already mended shut. Stryke expected her to bolt and shut herself in her bedroom. Her stubborn streak was probably to thank for that—she had to see where he was going with his actions.
But his only plans were to keep her in his arms all day.
He snagged his sweats off the floor and ushered her toward the door. He didn’t steer her toward her bedroom when they left the bathroom, but to the main area where he’d left his bags.
She waited with her eyes narrowed on him as he retrieved a bag and dug through it. He handed her a couple of garments to sleep in.
“What the hell are these?”
He bristled at her harsh tone, but it wasn’t unexpected. He stepped into his pants and jutted his chin toward the pile in her arms. “Matching pajamas.”
Her expression said You’ve got to be kidding me when she looked over the boy shorts with lip prints all over them. He’d chosen them because they came with a white tank that would outline Zoey’s breasts beautifully. And because the red lip smacks all over the short shorts matched his pants.
“If you like them so much, then why don’t we trade?” A touch of honey dripped from her words and he smiled.
“I’m all right if you just wear my bottoms and no top.”
She glowered at him before she turned and shimmied into the clothes. Adjusting her towel as she dressed, she managed to remain covered. As if he hadn’t seen every glorious inch as she was coming and screaming his name. His name.
She tossed the towel over the back of a chair and started for the kitchen. He beat her there and stood in front of the fridge.
“Hungry?” she snapped.
Propping one arm on the fridge and the other on his hip, he smirked. She was trying to distract him—she was after her juice. She’d fed from— He couldn’t go there or he’d take her again on a different countertop. She’d eaten while he cleaned up, but a bloody spell had happened and now she was after her drink.
“Thirsty?”
“I’m not going to apologize for what I drink.” She shoved him, her hands digging into his bare chest.
He didn’t move but admired her effort. “Good try.”
The calculating gleam in her eye worried him. Would he get a knee to the groin? An experience that’d be incredibly painful since his shaft was still hard and throbbing for her.
He opened the fridge door, swung it wide. “Let’s see… A rainbow of flavors.” He shot her an amused look. “I’m surprised your blood was actually red. Oh, look. Sausage. Bacon. Pickles. Bone broth. And…” He abandoned the fridge to slide his hand along the counter, naming the foods he passed. “Chips. Saltines. Pretzels.”
When she didn’t say anything, he turned toward her. Color leeched from her features, and she glanced from the fridge to the food and back.
“Zoey,” he kept his voice gentle, “I know vampires are born disgustingly healthy, but I’ve heard rumors of the occasional anomaly. You need this type of food to live, don’t you?”
Her guarded expression didn’t change. “We all need food to survive.”
“Do you just need salt or all the electrolytes?”
“Don’t be stupid. Whoever heard of such a thing.” She lacked conviction.
“Does anyone know? Did Mitchell know?”
Guilt flashed through her features. Finally she sighed and her shoulders sagged. “No. I never told him. He had enough to worry about when he made my quest his.”
Yes, if Mitchell had known, he would’ve yanked her to safety much earlier than he’d been planning. Yet Mitchell was clueless enough to not have noticed? Stryke had known the male’s inner thoughts and he’d never suspected Zoey’s disorder, whatever it was.
Zoey pushed a hand through her drying hair, spreading it across her shoulders like a heavy cloak. The movement spread her top snug over her chest and gave Stryke an amazing eyeful.
“The humans have a condition that results in low sodium levels. It’s called hyponatremia. That’s the closest thing I’ve found to what I suffer from.”
She’d told him. Stryke couldn’t speak for a moment. She’d been smart enough to know she was busted, but he hadn’t expected a real confession.
“What’d you do before Gatorade?”
She shrugged and folded her arms again. “Not much different than what you saw in the fridge. Pickle juice. Homemade bone broth. Growing up, I just noticed I felt better when I had those things.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “Thankfully I was born during the era of mass food preservation and salt was everywhere. Anyway, my parents’ blood was enough until I was an adult and had to find blood on my own. Then I ate more of what gave me energy until I was drinking several jars of pickle juice a week.”
Would her blood have tasted like brine during those days?
“When I was mated, it was easier to hide.” Her smile turned sad. “A steady blood supply helps.”
“Wait—your team doesn’t know?”
Her shoulders tensed. “I don’t need to be coddled.”
“What if you’re mortally wounded?”
She was back to warrior Zoey. Hard and no-nonsense. “I’ve been mortally wounded before and survived. I don’t want them treating me differently and risking themselves.”
And he thought demons kept secrets. She hadn’t told her mate of eight years, or friends she’d fought beside for decades?
Stubborn.
Cautious.
He moved toward her until he was in front of her. This time, she didn’t back up.
“And what about my blood?” he asked.
“Blood is blood,” she said flatly and sidled around him to dive into the fridge and grab a bottle full of purple juice.
She sauntered to the loveseat in her living room and plopped down. He settled next to her. A TV that took up half the wall hung across from them. She flipped it on and a daytime talk show filled the screen.
“Demon blood is not just any blood.” Did she really watch this stuff? She never used to.
Using the remote, she flipped through channels, but her thousand-yard stare wasn’t focused on the TV. “I won’t need to test it.”
“Just saying. Electrolytes are called that for a reason. And I’m an energy demon. My blood may be what you need.” He didn’t know much about vampire biochemistry, but it was a reasonable assumption.
She snorted. Sweet brimstone, he’d always found that adorable. “I doubt that.” The remote clanked when she dropped it on the end table after leaving the TV on a morning news show. Now that was a little more like Zoey. She faced him, her eyes full of challenge. “You know something about me no one else does. Tell me something about you no one knows.”
Spill his secrets? He didn’t have many. What could he tell her that would help her trust him?
“My sire…” Was a hateful bastard that I adored and followed around like a puppy. Oh, and he didn’t want me. Okay, he wouldn’t go there. “My sire was a member of the Circle, but I was raised by my mother. She was one of the last female energy demons.”
Zoey frowned. “Don’t you guys procreate?”
“I should amend—purebred energy demons.”
He realized his unintentional revelation when Zoey asked, “But you’re second-tier. Both of your parents couldn’t be purebred.”
“Right.”
“But your sire was on the Circle.”
“Right.”
She sipped her Gatorade and waited for him to continue. He didn’t want to spread his family shame out for her to see.
“He was strong, had many of the exaggerated demon features you’d expect—horns, fangs, claws.” His father had towered above him, lorded his size over him. “Several members of the Circle and other purebred females wanted to breed with him, build energy into their genetics. But if they succeeded, imagine their surprise when a second-tier was birthed. Father couldn’t take the chance. He bonded my mother and managed to lock her away deep in the underworld.”
“And bonding does what for energy demons?”
“We can control our seed being spilled.”
Understanding dawned in her features. “So when Hypna forced you to…”
“When she didn’t get pregnant, despite using her venom on me, she knew.” Sympathy shimmered in her eyes and Stryke didn’t mind. “The worst part was fearing for your safety.”
Zoey looked away and set her drink down. “She figured out it was me when she determined it was you who saved me from Morgana.”
Stryke nodded. “Fyra and I worked together and didn’t hate each other like the Circle would’ve preferred. Hypna naturally figured out it was me who helped her by helping you.”
Only he hadn’t been helping Fyra. Stryke’s only concern that day had been Zoey’s safety.
Zoey still wasn’t meeting his gaze. She curled her legs under her and stared at the TV while two newscasters talked over each other. “You still have to tell me something no one else knows. The whole underworld probably knows your story.”
Stryke had to take his gaze off her, too. Most days it felt like the entire underworld had witnessed his shame. It hadn’t been his humiliation per se, but his sire’s. Stryke had managed to elude any more attention. He’d become a second-tier, done his job for decades, and coasted through life until he’d landed in Mitchell.
Zoey focused on him, the intensity burning a hole in the side of his face. He clenched his jaw and let his biggest secret spill.
What would she think?
“I had a brother.”
Zoey’s eyes flew wide. “What? Where?”
“I never met him. I was imprisoned for my first twenty years before my sire deemed me useful to him. I guess my brother was born sometime after.” His jaw tightened. Likely right after Stryke had been freed. When his father had “dealt” with his mother. “Mother hid him from Father,” protected him, unlike me, “but when he went down to end her for good, when the secret of his genetics was in danger of being revealed, he killed them both.”
“How old would he have been?” Zoey was filled with way more compassion than Stryke. He’d never gotten to know his sibling but had walked in on his sire’s rage-filled tantrum and gotten the gist of what, or who, had been found.
“If he had lived, he would have been fifty-eight. When he was killed, he was probably only thirty.” In captivity longer than Stryke had been.
What lies had his mother spread about him? Chalk up another family member who probably had hated Stryke and cursed his birth.
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re seventy-eight? I’m older than you, too?” She shook her head, then gathered her hair over one shoulder.
He wanted to shove his hands through all that hair and smash his mouth onto hers.
“Was your mother awful?”
Ripping his gaze off Zoey’s long locks, he forced himself to meet her stare. “Yes.”
“That’s why you left her there and went with your sire. What was his name?”
Stryke sank back into the cushions with a sigh, his eyes on the ceiling. “I never knew his real name, but he called himself Burhn. Anyway, I was proof my mother wasn’t clever enough to best my sire, who was a mere second-tier who had not only posed as a pure-blood but had also attained Circle status. I was proof that my sire wasn’t purebred. Imagine being imprisoned with a parent who wishes you were never born. No, if she had been freed, she’d have tried to kill me as a start to reestablishing her strength.”
Then he’d have had to kill his own mother. It was bad enough he’d done nothing to end his sire’s humiliation.
When his sire had come by, throwing them food and supplies, Stryke had been stupidly enamored with the powerful male. Had copied every movement. Once he’d been freed, he’d taken on every mission his sire had favored. Like eradicating vampires.
Until he’d laid eyes on Zoey.
“Family, huh?” Her dry chuckle held no humor.
He rolled to the side and slid off the couch to his knees. Zoey pressed into the couch but didn’t run.
Was she as emotionally raw as he was? Their explosion together in the bathroom was a sign he hadn’t been wrong about them. They had chemistry and they’d just shared personal stories.
Now he needed to share her body.
Her breathing hitched.
“No mirrors out here,” he said.
Her gaze darted around as he crept closer. He was mere inches away; she licked her lips.
A smile curved his mouth. She wanted him again, too.
“I don’t think we should…”
“Probably not.” Agreeing would put her at ease; otherwise she’d think of reasons to object. He was only thinking of the ecstasy his body could bring her.
He rolled up her flimsy top and dipped his head down. She sucked in a breath as soon as his lips landed on her stomach. A sizzle of energy coursed between them.
Zoey squirmed under him as if she were trying to get closer. He kissed his way up to a breast and captured a nipple.
Her hands dug into his hair. Like him, she needed to feel good. To be taken away from debilitating disorders, lost mates, and crummy families.
Busying his hands with wrestling her shorts off, he was hit with the scent of her arousal. Sweet and fruity, like the juice she’d just drunk.
He had to taste.
Releasing her, he shoved himself down between her long legs. Her hands were still buried in his hair and they fisted as soon as he found her clit with his tongue.
Brimstone and tinder, she tasted like dessert. He settled in for a full meal, licking and sucking until she dripped. Feet pressed into his shoulders, she moaned with each lap of his tongue. He glanced up. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, her mouth open with her moans. Part of him knew that she’d shut her thinking self off, that she allowed her body to feel good but refused to consider Stryke. He was more than a vibrator to her, but he didn’t fool himself. Just because they’d each shared a secret didn’t mean she would hand herself over to him. Not his loyal Zoey. She’d had a true mate, and while Stryke no longer had to hide within Mitchell, it’d take an inhuman effort to step out of his shadow.
“Yes.” Her hips bucked, and he redoubled his efforts, wanting to be at the apex of her release, responsible for it, like he had been earlier.
Her hands landed on his head. She threaded her fingers under and around his horns to ride his face.
He’d grin if he could, but his tongue was busy. As a starving male, he’d take any sign that she was willing to let him all the way in, eventually. All restraint was fading and a zing of electricity curled between them.
She gave a sharp cry and shuddered. Stryke sent another small shock. Her juices coated him and she cried his name.
His name.
He reared up, shoved his sweats down, and impaled her with his shaft. It vibrated with his energy and she tried to spread her legs wider to accommodate him, but she couldn’t. Her legs had draped over his shoulders when he’d risen from her center. Planting his arms on either side of her, he began to ruthlessly thrust, each re-entry more forceful, filled with more of his energy than ever before.
Zoey collapsed back. Tremors shook her body as his energy rippled through her. In the back of his mind, he entertained the concern that his energy flow would disrupt her, deplete her resources. But he’d take care of her. He’d always take care of her.
Her channel was still rippling from her recent orgasm and he was stoking another climax. Fingers curled into his biceps and he swooped down to capture her mouth.
Her eyes flew open, then shut again as she relaxed into him so he could dominate her. Always a strong female, he was humbled she let him take full control of her body.
Sending energy into his kiss, it connected where they were connected, at their sexes.
Zoey tensed, her nails digging into his flesh. She tried to distance herself and scrape closer to him at the same time, but he refused to let her budge an inch away.
A primal snarl ripped from her throat and he swallowed it into himself. With their mouths smashed against each other, she couldn’t cry or holler her ecstasy, but she tried. Her orgasm suspended her in his arms and he soaked all of her in.
Stryke’s strokes shortened as his release exploded, encompassed by Zoey’s welcome heat.
Urgent grunts and groans escaped him, but they converged into one, holding on as if their lives depended on it.
He went still and so did Zoey, and they supported each other. Breaking their desperate kiss, he nibbled his way down to her neck.
She sucked in a gusty breath and tensed to squirm away, but he nipped her neck.
Her sex convulsed and he chuckled, his hot breath wafting over her until she shivered.
“I’m not done yet, Zoey.” Her hips rocked and his softened shaft hardened to granite. One time with Zoey was more than enough to get him through another five years. Two times was a fantasy. Three times was going to be reality.
“We shouldn’t…” she tried again. Her rational self was returning and he much preferred making her mindless.
“We already have.” He sank his fangs into a delicate vein.
Her hands were back in his hair and he was beginning to think she had a thing for his locks. “You can’t drink from me,” she murmured.
Did she fear he’d take too much and she’d need a Gatorade after sex? Releasing her only to say, “I’ll give back what I take,” he bit her again as he rocked his pelvis.
Her wet heat answered by gripping him with the strength he associated with her.
Yes, she needed this as much as he did. Wanted it as much—a startling realization for him. By now, she couldn’t fool herself that he’d taken her body for his own.
He lost himself as she breathed his name, lowered her legs from his shoulders, and wrapped them around him.
***
Creed scowled at the solid wood entry door and gave it a couple of hard knocks. Rourke waited with him. They’d been assigned to bring Grace’s family to the compound for safety. They’d gone back and forth. Bring them in where they’d all be in one pot for the demons, or set up surveillance to watch their place? But they didn’t have the manpower to be spread out, so they were here to bring the family in.
The door swung open and Creed cringed. Melody’s gaze landed on him and stuck, the beam of infatuation at full strength. Ever since they’d rescued her from Rourke’s brother, she seemed to think Creed had hung the moon and stars just for her.
He hoped it’d fade the longer she was around. The nanny position had been created just for her. They couldn’t send a human who knew all about them back into the human world. Her sunshine-filled personality, and the fact that she was all alone with no family, had endeared her to the rest of the team. But time had not faded her raging crush.
“Creed, what a surprise!” Her smile was wide and while it was a nice one, full of white teeth and no fangs, strong enough to light up an entire room, Creed dreaded it being aimed at him. Didn’t the poor girl realize that there could be nothing between them—even if he’d been interested? Which he wasn’t.
Her grin warmed as she turned to greet Rourke. “Hey, Rourke. Ari and Xavier will love to see you.”
The corner of Rourke’s mouth twitched. For him, it was a warm smile. “We don’t have time to stay and chat. Are you all packed?”
His friend had been the one to make the call to the Blanchettes. The orders had received no resistance. The Blanchettes had thought Grace had been slaughtered as a baby, only reconnecting months ago. They were taking no chances with their family’s safety.
“Yes, I’m packed,” Melody answered. Her cheeks were stained with the bright red blush she usually developed around Creed. He stifled his sigh. He was no one’s superhero and wished she’d direct her desire elsewhere. A human had no business lusting after him.
“Their bags are loaded,” she continued. “Grace’s parents are in the den, waiting for you guys. I was just finishing packing when I heard you knock.” She glanced at Creed and her blush deepened.
Rourke inclined his head. “I’ll load up the rest. Creed, help Melody with her bags.”
Creed slid an incredulous glare toward Rourke. The male was normally levelheaded. Why in the world would he fan the flames of Melody’s crush?
Rourke strode into the den, ignoring him. Cold bastard.
Creed forced a pleasant smile and when her smile increased in wattage, he immediately regretted it.
She turned to trot upstairs to her quarters. He stayed on her heels and she jabbered the whole way.
“I just have to throw a few things in. I mean, I’m done, but if I can have another minute, I can throw more stuff in.” When they reached the top of the stairs, she spun and walked backward while talking, her hands flying with each word. “I don’t need help, but I really appreciate it. I bet a guy like you has better things to do than carry luggage.”
Creed grunted his reply. She darted into her room, but he waited outside. Curiosity propelled him toward the opening.
And she was still jabbering about what she’d bring, what she’d decided to leave behind, and what’d she fucking packed for the children.
Creed didn’t bother smiling and nodding. He caught every word and couldn’t help but think her name fit her. Her voice wasn’t shrill or annoying, but a pleasing sound that he only minded listening to because she had a major thing for him.
He examined her room. He had expected bubble-gum pink and frills, and it was…if he counted her pink-camo bedspread.
He cut into her next sentence about choosing which toys to bring for the boys. “Is that antler rack real?”
Without missing a beat, she explained, “It was my dad’s. He was an avid hunter and that was the biggest buck he’d ever tagged. In storage, I have all of the wild game he hunted and preserved before I was born.” She fell quiet, her expression introspective. Creed hadn’t known she had a serious side. “I’ve been thinking about finding a museum to donate them all to. I know what some people think about hunting and hunters, but he really loved and respected nature. Do you need a bearskin rug?”
Creed’s gaze had wandered to the mounted fish hanging above her bed, but it ricocheted back to her. “What?”
“That’s a nice trout, am I right?” She grinned, her baby-blue eyes twinkling. “I caught that one and I love a good fish fillet, especially the way my dad fried it, but I was only, like, eight and it was so pretty that I started crying when my dad went to fillet it. He had it mounted and gave it to me one Christmas. The bearskin is really nice. My dad was so proud of it. It was the biggest game he’d hunted.” She giggled, a sound like musical bells. “The tale of his bear hunt was always part of my bedtime stories. No princesses for me, no sir.”
“Ah… I must decline. My thanks for the offer.”
She slanted him a humorous look with her mouth quirked. “You become very formal at times.”
“Is your bag ready?” Creed didn’t mean to sound short, but being busted acting like the prime male he’d been born as by the little pixie chatterbox caught him off guard.
Her eyes were as round as saucers. “Yes, sorry.” She zipped the suitcase and dragged it off the bed. “So sorry. I really…that was out of line. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
While her attention was on struggling with the heavy luggage, Creed rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He stepped in her path and secured the suitcase, easily hefting it. He marched out and down the stairs as she gushed her thanks behind him.
Creed went straight for the garage to load her bag, and to his relief, she veered off to help the Blanchettes gather the boys.
Rourke was in the garage, arranging items in the trunk of a teal sedan. “I’ll drive Grace’s parents and the boys. You flash back with Melody and get her settled.”
“You can’t be serious.” Creed shoved the suitcase on top of the rest and frowned. Melody had actually packed less for herself than the others.
Rourke paused in his task. “Why not?”
“She’s human. She won’t take the flash well.” Creed had flashed with her once before and she’d passed out. He’d caught her and added another level to the pedestal she’d put him on.
“She’ll recover; she always does. You’ll cover her and if we run into any problems, we can flash quickly with the kids without worrying about Melody’s safety.” Creed’s expression must’ve reflected the dismay he was feeling because irritation flared in Rourke’s dark eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with the plan?”
“The plan has me in charge of Melody. You know how she is about me. I don’t need to encourage her—we all know nothing can happen between us.” He tapped a hard rhythm on the side of the vehicle. “She’s got this hero worship or something and it’s ridiculous. I’m a vampire from a wealthy family and she’s a fucking human we’ll forget not long after her short life ends.”
A soft gasp echoed in the silence after Creed’s tirade. Rushed footsteps faded into the house.
He closed his eyes. That did not just happen. “Fuck. That was her.”
“Yes,” Rourke said quietly. “She’s gotten good at sneaking up on the boys. I didn’t hear her until you were finishing your prime-vampire rhetoric.”
Creed opened his eyes to glare at his friend. “Fuck off, Rourke. You know I’m not like that.”
Rourke arched a brow.
Of course his friend was a commoner, so what Creed had said sounded as bad to Rourke as it had to Melody.
“Fuck!” Creed spun and stomped after Melody.
He found her waiting by the front door, her back to him, her shoulders hunched.
A hundred things ran through his mind to say. All sounded inane compared to saying she was nothing compared to him. He settled on, “I’m sorry.”
She straightened with a sniffle. “Apology accepted.”
Her words were lifeless and Creed felt like a heaping pile of old manure. She refused to meet his gaze and he missed the life in her eyes, missed it directed at him.
He opened the door and stepped out. She did the same, and when he held out his hand, she accepted, her face set, staring straight ahead.
“Ready?” he asked. The flash would give her a raging case of vertigo.
She nodded without looking at him, her touch cold, light.
He flashed them outside of the compound. Melody surged into him with the landing and he went to wrap his arms around her to steady her. She shoved herself away, swaying and weaving toward the door, one hand on her stomach.
Her humanity had always been a detriment to him, but now that she’d shut herself down in front of him, he found he missed it.