“What do you want?” I asked Bruiser, curious, not sure I wanted to know what he might say. “What do you really want?”
“You.”
I felt my flush, felt my heart race, out of control. Knew he could sense those things now that he was Onorio.
“Eventually,” he added. “When you’re ready.”
Beast sank her claws deeper, kneading my heart this time, a measured, pricking, painful pad . . . pad . . . pad. She purred deep inside me, peering through my eyes. I could see the golden reflection of her in his.
He didn’t comment on my eyes, on the proof that I wasn’t human. But then, he had been a blood-servant and primo of a master vamp for decades. He hadn’t been truly human for a long while, so proof of my lack of humanity might not bother him at all. I took a breath that hurt as my ribs moved, recently healed flesh tingling, that sharp pain blending with Beast’s claws, pressing in on me. I remembered the feel of the scale of the light-dragon, and the magic that it left prickling on my flesh. “You keep saying that.”
“Yes. I do.” He gave a small smile. Stepped inside the door without my asking him in, and closed the door behind himself. The kitchen was shadowed and still. Intimate. Slowly, Bruiser lifted his right hand and cupped my face, his flesh warmer than human. Fevered. I tilted my head into his palm, not sure. Not sure of anything. So very not sure.
Am not afraid, Beast thought. Want. Want this one. Want mate. She pushed back at me, fighting my control. My breath quickened as I/we stared into Bruiser’s eyes.
He tilted my head back, his gaze holding me. Odd, that angle up to see a taller man. Brown eyes with yellow streaks in them, pale amber, brightened by Beast’s glow, heated, like banked fires. He stepped closer. His mouth came down to mine. A bare brush of lips. The heated taste of Onorio, as if he might burn me. His breath a warm wisp. Another graze of lips. Slow. My eyes closed. The tension I hadn’t noted fell away. His lips sealed over mine. And I sighed into his mouth. Liquid warmth, like melting chocolate and heavy cream, swirled and merged deep inside me, spreading through me and out, to slide along my skin, a sweet burning.
Want, Beast thought. Want this. This mate. I breathed in, and Bruiser’s scent was searing and honeyed, like caramelized sugar, scorching in the pan. Want, she purred, the sensation like velvet sliding through me, shredding the endings of nerves in my palms and breasts and puddling between my thighs.
But you wanted Rick. And he failed us, I thought at Beast. The old hurt rose up, and I saw again his face, suffused with desire and magic as he walked away from us and toward Paka.
I no longer wanted Rick. I didn’t. But the pain was still raw.
Mine. Now! Beast thought. But I was caught between two needs, protection and desire.
Bruiser’s hand soothed my cheek, down along my neck, and cupped my head, tilting my face farther upward. His other arm slipped around me, drawing me close. Moving slowly, as if I might leap away, like a wild animal, caught delicately in his hands. His body like a furnace, like an oaken fire in the midst of winter, melded to mine.
This not Rick. This is mate. Beast struggled, wanting free. Pain raced along my nerves and through my fingertips as her claws threatened to pierce my flesh.
I raised my hands and placed my palms on his upper arms, feeling the corded muscle hidden beneath the inhumanly warm flesh. I tightened my fingers over his arms, careful of the pain in my fingertips. Not pulling him closer. But not pushing him away either. His lips brushed warmth through me and I closed my eyes, scenting, tasting, feeling, knowing. Heat spread out from the center of me, bright and painful and needing.
Jane wants. Jane wants mate. Jane is foolish kit not to take. Stupid, Beast hissed.
His arms tightened, pulling me closer. One hand slid low and cupped me in, toward the center of him. His tongue brushed against my teeth and my breath hitched, feeling-seeing-tasting the thought of Bruiser and me in my bed. Beast swiped claws of desire through me. Heat billowed up from the center of me to throb, low in my belly. Electric pulses thrummed through me, burning with need. And yet I held back, seeing, hearing all those unanswered questions between us. All that depth of the unknown. I didn’t want to take a man to my bed again without honesty between us. Yet, my arm slid up, one hand cupping his head, the other riding low, one thumb on the edge of the waistband of his slacks.
At that thought, Beast paused. Bruiser would know the I/we of Beast, she murmured.
As if he sensed both my need and my pliant uncertainty, Bruiser’s lips curled up and he chuckled into my mouth, his laughter a rumble of delight, a vibration that met and merged with Beast’s laughing purr. Settled low in me, throbbing.
Bruiser would take the I/we of Beast as mate. Want this. Like hunting, slow stalk and wait in sun for perfect prey.
Bruiser pulled away, ending the kiss slowly, his lips clinging and withdrawing all at once. I opened my eyes to see his, watching me. So close. The heat of his kiss made my knees weak. I wanted more. I wanted. And he knew it. His eyes shifted to my mouth, his own still holding that half smile.
Beast pulled back. Mate. Mate the I/we of Beast. Mate all of what we are.
Yes. That, I thought. I licked my lips and said the first thing that popped into my head. “Do you read Latin?” And then blushed like a schoolgirl. Idiot. Stupid. I am so stupid!
Bruiser laughed, the vibrations rushing up through my chest, pressed against his. “You are a never-ending source of delight,” he said. He kissed my forehead as if I were a favored child, released me, and walked away, taking with him that extraordinary warmth. Leaving me feeling abnormally chilled in the May-warm house.
Not knowing what else to do, not sure what had just happened, I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking, Holy crap on crackers with cheese, and followed him into the kitchen.
“I assume you are talking about the papers Grégoire gave to you,” he said, stopping in front of the box in question. “Make me some coffee and I’ll see if I can help.”
It wasn’t what I wanted, not at all, but it also seemed like a fair trade, and perhaps a chance to ask of the former primo what I had asked of Grégoire. I used the semi-new coffee machine to brew Bruiser a perfect cup of golden roast and poured myself a mug of vanilla-flavored tea, with hazelnut creamer and a half teaspoon of sugar, keeping my hands busy so I didn’t have to look at Bruiser as I served him. Keeping my head down, thinking. Feeling his lips on mine again. It had been a chaste kiss. Not much tongue. No grinding body to body. The warmth cached within me flared at the thought and I swallowed a soft gasp. Drank the hot tea to cover my reaction. And burned my tongue, which served me right.