A little midflight hand job sounded exactly like something Gray Donohue would be into-if the circumstances were different. But this wasn't the time, the place, or, he thought almost regrettably, the girl.
And clearly Dillon felt the same.
The moment they hit ground, she released her hold on his naked frame and ushered him across a great expanse of snow-covered lawn like an army drill sergeant.
"You gonna tell me where we are?" Gray said through gritted teeth, the unsympathetic midwinter cold attacking his bare skin.
"My digs," she answered, nodding toward a two-story guesthouse set front and center on a sprawling piece of property.
"And the McMansion behind it?" he asked.
"My boss's digs," she said, pushing him through the back door of the house and into a sunken living area.
"The Senator? We're in Maine?" No wonder it was so freaking cold.
"Wasn't going to take you back home, Impure." She stripped out of her coat. "Wherever that is."
"Surprised you didn't drop my ass at my sister's."
"Sure," she said with a laugh, tossing the coat on the back of the long, plush couch. " 'Cause the Order would never look for you there."
He ground his molars at her nonchalance, her sarcasm. He wanted to shoot back with something equally acerbic, but what would be the point? She was right. Shit, he hated that. Almost as much as he hated standing before her in nothing but a sneer. "Hey, point me toward the shower, D. I need to warm up. I'm fucking freezing."
Her gaze dropped and she snorted. "So I see."
"Shower," he repeated, this time grabbing his cock. "Unless you're going to warm me up. Again."
For a moment, it seemed as though she were contemplating it, or maybe she was just trying to make him nuts as she stared.
Gray felt his cock twitch and swell in his hand, and it wasn't in response to his touch.
Finally Dillon's eyes lifted and her mouth tilted up at the corners. "Up the stairs, Impure, third door on your left."
Gray released himself and walked away from her without another word. She liked games. She liked playing people, playing him-playing his sister. Well, he wasn't in the mood. Not today. Maybe not ever. The Paleo, and everything he'd witnessed there-everything he'd heard-still sat heavily inside his chest and made him feel unworthy to be here, in this house, his manhood intact. Dillon couldn't understand. She was cold and unfeeling with a heart that remained still and silent. And she was Pureblood. She was born and bred to look down her nose at him and everyone who shared his blood.
He felt her eyes on him as he headed up the stairs, but all he could think about was getting in that shower, under the hot water, the steam closeting him as he fought for answers, maybe a blip of inspiration, or a plan to get his father's best friend and his family out of that hole in the ground.
And what about the others?
Did he care about the others?
He moved down the hall, seeing nothing but the carpet path before him. The art on the wall, the trim around each door, the scent of several of Dillon's previous houseguests-it all registered somewhere in his brain, but his need for heat trumped it all. Third door on the left, and he was through it, slamming the thick wood behind himself and locking it-locking her out. He saw the glass door and massive stone shower. In seconds, his hand was fisting around the faucet, cranking the thing to blistering. As the water surged out of the head and pummeled the stone floor, Gray's mind splintered with all it had heard and consumed from Samuel back in the cage at the Paleo.
His father was an Impure.
His father was the head of the Impure resistance.
His father was blood castrated.
Firecrackers hitting him in the ass, one after the other. It was shocking, unbelievable and yet . . . he knew it was the truth.
The heat of the shower beckoned him, but once under the burning spray he stood immobile, his mind conjuring images of Samuel stretched out on the stone table, the Order veana fang-deep in his vein, sucking the very maleness from his already weak body. Suddenly, the male's head turned to reveal not the face of Samuel, but Gray's father. And that face . . . that face stared straight at Gray with wide, terror-filled eyes.
"Fuck!" Gray said, reaching out with his left hand and pounding the side of the stone wall. They'd as good as murdered his father-every last member of the Order.
Steam rose up, circled his thighs, his groin, threatening, menacing as it snaked around his ravaged hands. Just as the fire had done-the fire that his sister, Sara, had accidentally set all those years ago.
And yet, with all that Samuel had revealed to him, had she started that fire? HAD SHE?
His throat went tight, painfully tight and he tried to swallow, to breathe. His entire past-was it a lie? Could that be? Or was it a mystery to be solved? Just as the fate of the Impures had been passed down to him through an old male's tale of the truth.
Gray tipped his head back and let the spray smack him in the face, the neck, where his pulse pounded.
He would go back there.
Had to go back there.
The shower door opened with such force the glass stuttered. Gray ratcheted up, his head shifting right to catch his intruder. Dillon stood there, nearly enveloped by the steam, her full lips curled with distaste and annoyance. "You've been in here too long."
If there was a place between hate, curiosity, and deep, pulse-pounding lust, then that's where Gray resided when it came to this veana. "Worried about me, D? Or did you come to tell me breakfast is ready-cause I'm starved."
"Yeah. It's all laid out, Impure. Bacon, pancakes and eggs over-asshole."
"I'll be right down. And by 'right down' I mean 'don't hold your breath.' "
She looked down her nose at him, all serious now, real dictatorial. "Let it go, okay, Gray? Get over it already."
Gray's mouth kicked up. "Are we talking about that comment about my dick in the cold? Sure it stung a little, baby, but I was over it the moment I left you downstairs."
"You know what I'm talking about." Her stare was resolute, unwavering in her seriousness. "And don't call me baby."
Standing directly under the spray, water dancing down his skin, Gray returned, "That how you deal with the tough stuff, D? Let it go? Pretend it isn't there?"
"Damn right I do." She shrugged. "Any and all."
"Well, you're a bigger man than me."
Her eyes flickered down, remained on his groin for several seconds, then lifted.
He couldn't deal with her, not here, not now. Couldn't deal with her eyes on him, her scent so fucking close it made him want to lap at the steam to just get a taste of her. He had to think, plan his next move. "I have a shower to finish," he uttered, dropping his head, letting the water pound the back of his neck.
Again, she ignored his call for solitude. "If you don't stop agonizing over something you can't change you'll make yourself crazy."
The water fell over him in gushes. Maybe he'd thought that same thing, maybe he hadn't thought at all. Not until he'd seen what he'd seen. Gotten personal with someone he'd never expected to meet-or shit, even knew existed.
"If you're planning on going back, it's not going to happen," she continued. "I'm the only one in this bathroom who knows where the Paleo is and I'm not telling."
Well, maybe he needed to look outside the bathroom.
But not yet.
He glanced sideways at her. "How long have you known the location of that shithole?"
She shrugged.
"Days? Weeks? Months?"
"A few years."
Gray's jaw was so damn tight he thought it might crack. "And you did nothing."
She inched forward, nearly hitting water. "I told you I don't give a flying fuck about any of them. Impures and their problems are not my concern."
"Except me."
"You're not just an Impure, now are you?" She cocked her head to the side. "And why are you getting on my ass about this anyway? Before you were dragged down there, before you saw the Order's playground and toys, you didn't give a shit either."
"Not true," he fired back, wincing internally at the possibility that she was right on the goddamn money with that assessment.
"You've done nothing to help them, nothing to further your Cause. All you've been doing is baseline shit-looking for your 'kind,' looking for a place to live." Her eyes narrowed. "Looking for another cunt to drown your aimless dick in."
He growled at her. "The word cunt sounds so right on your lips."
"Goddamn Impure pussy . . ."
Gray reached out and grabbed her by the arms. His strength peaked, he yanked her inside the shower and deposited her right in front of his face. Water rained down on both of them and she cursed.
"What's with the rescue, D?" he demanded. It was eating at him-to know, to understand. She'd rescued him once, in the hospital, now she was at it again. Was this all about Sara or was there more? Did she have any kind of feelings for him other than clear and present irritation?
Her hair was soaked, her face alive and impassioned and pissed off. She looked hot. Way too hot for him to want to knock her out. Knock her up though . . .
She grabbed him around the neck, squeezed just a fraction of an inch. "You know I allowed you to pull me in here, right?"
His fangs dropped. "Why. Did. You. Come. For. Me?"
She leaned in, her mouth close to his, and she lapped at one sharp, white fang with her tongue. "I've never come for you, Gray."
His cock twitched and started to rise. Fuck her. Screw her and her games.
She grinned at him. "And I don't ever want you thinking you can put your hands on me without my permission." Completely wet now, she leaned back against the shower wall and crossed her arms over her chest.
Gray stared, a hunger fisting inside him as he took in her body and the wet clothes that clung to it. Her white shirt was totally see through, the bra too, and it made his breath catch in his throat. Round, achingly pretty breasts assaulted his vision, but it was her nipples, hard and highly edible, that made the skin over his bones convulse.
He was hard now, his cock rock solid and pulsing against his stomach as though it had a heartbeat of its own. "Sara ask you to keep watch on me, D? Is that was this is all about? A favor for your fantasy girlfriend?"
Within the confines of the swirling steam, her face remained calm, but implacable. "She would never forgive me if I let something happen to you-something I could prevent."
"You're such a good friend."
"I try."
"Yeah, I know you do." He raised a brow. "Again and again to no avail. Talk about chasing something that can never be changed."
Her lip curled and her gaze drifted down his body. "Glad to see the cock still goes up and down, Impure."
"For anything with a nice set of tits." He leveled her with a callous gaze. "You know how that is, D."
She laughed. "If only I had a cock. Oh, the damage I could do."
His body went instantly on alert, heating up, rising up. "What kind of damage?"
She laughed at him.
She was so good at it, at making him feel like a dick, like a fool . . .
Like an Impure.
And yet, he wanted her. Wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything.
"Tell me about the damage, D," he said, trying to control the shudder in his voice, the desire to pounce on her, then pound her senseless. "Or better yet, show me."
"You couldn't handle it, Gray."
There was not a trace of teasing or bitchiness in her tone or words this time. Nothing but truth, grave truth. And something else, something deep within her hazel eyes. It flashed there, a warning light.
But when had he ever stopped on red?
"Try me," he challenged.
She smiled-it may have been a sad, pitying smile, but he didn't care. She was away from the wall and coming at him like a tiger, graceful and deadly. Her fangs flashed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and captured his mouth.
Holy shit.
Gray felt as though he were dying, drowning. And he welcomed it-hell, he would've begged for it. It was the kind of kiss that consumed. The kind of kiss that didn't need to force the breath from your body because you handed it over without question or complaint. It was unlike any kiss Gray had ever experienced and as he gripped her waist and yanked her closer, impossibly closer, he let go of all thought, all concern. As the water rained down on both of them, and the world grew lava hot, Gray let the veana who both tortured and turned him on kiss the shit out of him.
Goddamn, her lips were so soft, impossibly soft-and luscious and teasing and when her tongue began to thrust into his mouth, back and forth with a sexual power that sent come to the tip of his cock, his fangs descended further and trembled with a desire he'd never experienced.
A desire maybe he should never have experienced because it would make every kiss pale in comparison after this.
She pulled back then, her eyes finding and locking with his. "I'll let you finish up in here."
She left the shower, walked right out of the bathroom, dripping wet and sans towel.
Gray hesitated for less than a second, the sight of her walking away wrenching something deep inside him. He forgot everything else, even the running shower, and bolted after her. The hallway was empty, but he spotted her wet footprints and followed her down the stairs. He knew, his brain knew, that the wisest course of action was not the one he was taking. And yet, it was as though an animal's instinct, hunger, primal need had taken over and he was just along for the ride.
He cleared the last step, stood there for a moment sniffing. Where was she? Wet and cruel. Where had she run off to?
Then he spied droplets of water in the carpet leading down another hallway. He took off, ran down its length and into a room that contained her scent, her wet, teasing, diabolical scent.
Could've been the kitchen, could've been the garage-he was too blind to everything else but her to notice or care. He thought maybe there was a bed on one wall, but all he saw, all he wanted was the veana undressing near the window. He was on her in seconds, had her around the waist, had her yanked back against his chest, and without thought had his mouth on the back of her neck.
She tasted like sweat, and it was the sweetest, most erotic flavor to ever hit his tongue.
His fangs extended to pin-prick sharpness.
"Fuck, Gray!"
She wrenched free, turned in his grasp and slapped him hard in the face with the palm of her hand.
It felt like the brush of a butterfly's wings. That's how gone he was-beside himself. Hunger like he'd never known-predatory desire like he'd never known-coursed through his blood. The need was insatiable and he was unstoppable. He moved forward, struck again at her neck and this time made contact.
Dillon sucked in air, gripped his shoulders hard, painfully hard, but she didn't push him away. He knew she could-knew she was stronger than him by a thousand.
Blood, delectable blood snaked down his throat, and as it did he heard her moan, felt her nipples-naked and cool-grow hard against his chest. Oh shit, he wanted to fuck her senseless. His head dropped further, his fangs plunging deeper into her skin until he could do nothing but drink, drink and lap at her skin with his tongue.
"Fuck," she cried out, her nails digging into his skin. "Fuck!" And then she was slapping him. Slapping his face, his cheek, over and over as she ground her hips against his.
It only made him drink harder, deeper.
She knew her effect on him.
He knew she knew it.
Suddenly, he stilled, stopped feeding, his mind racing. But how did he know it? It wasn't in her head. The thoughts, the silent cries of need, the ever present push to keep going, harder, faster, deeper, that he'd heard in the heads of every female he'd ever bedded.
The world, the moment, once wide and fever-pitched, shrunk down to a pinprick. He rocketed back, his fangs pulling out of her skin in one clean movement. What the hell was going on here? His breath coming in heavy gasps, he wiped the blood from his mouth and stared at her.
She grinned at him, her breathing normal-her eyes clear, not glazed with passion. "You have a very nice set there, Impure. Sharp. Thick. Got the job done and then some."
She was unaffected. Completely and utterly. And he wanted to rage at her about it, force her to admit her attraction to him, but there was something far more worrisome on his heart at that moment. Eyes narrowed, completely uncaring of his nude frame and heavy cock, he said, "I can't hear you."
She turned away, grabbed a tank top and threw it on. "No worries. The buzzing will wear off in a moment. It's my blood. Pure, powerful-"
"No." He shook his head. She had to be thinking. Right now she had to have some thought in her head. But he was picking up nothing. She was a blank screen.
It was impossible.
Her eyes narrowed on him. "What's wrong with you?"
Did he tell her? Did he share his concern and ask her for a probable answer to the mystery? His head cocked, his gaze took in her fine features, cat eyes and firm set of her mouth. She seemed way too closed and he wasn't in a very trusting mood. Until he figured out the reason for this blip in his gift himself, he wasn't about to share it with the class.
"Maybe you need to go lie down," she said, nodding toward the door. Her bedroom door, he now realized. "Get some sleep."
Her bedroom. His gaze moved around the room. White walls, white bed, white, white, white except for the small stuffed animal wedged in between her pillows. A cat, or some kind of wild feline, he couldn't tell.
"Your room's upstairs," she said, her voice tearing him from the bed, from the odd plaything among all that virginal white. "It's right next to the bathroom."
"Yeah," he said. "Sure." Then headed for the door.
"And when you wake up," she called after him, "all this-everything that's happened--will have been just a bad dream."
His hand closed around the doorknob.
"And I mean, everything."
Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder. Dillon stood there in a black tank and jeans, her hair a little wild, her eyes trained on him-her thoughts a mystery. She looked hard, mean, insensitive and untouchable, and if Gray would have allowed himself to sink back into hunter mode, he'd have been all over that. Again.
"You understand, right?" she said, dropping her chin, her eyes narrowing. "You get it?"
"Get what, D?" he said with barely restrained bitterness.
She shrugged. "You know. It was as close as I'm ever going to get to Sara."
He stared at her. For one very long, agonizing moment. It stung. Her words. Stung like a motherfucker, and instead of wanting to walk out of the room, it made the newly unleashed predator in him want to prove her words a lie. But he was tired, tired of getting dicked around, and so he did it-turned and walked out. He walked down the hall, up the stairs, past the bathroom still heavy with steam and into the bedroom that supposedly belonged to him. He sank down on the mattress and prepared to wait. A minute, an hour, however long it took for her to forget that he existed so he could get the fuck out of Dodge and back where he belonged.
Where he had always belonged.