Hunger Read online

  Then he heard another soft noise. It was a slight scrape and it no longer sounded dangerous.

  Galvanized, he flicked back the lock and threw open the door. At his feet, the crumpled form of Holly lay in a heap of damp wool and denim and deathly pale flesh.

  ***

  She was cold. Had been forever, actually. But now, more so than ever before. Too cold to shiver. Too cold to move. Too cold to live.

  Her body sagged in a painful curve when she was lifted and carried and deposited onto hard cement. Should the cement feel warm against the side of her face? That couldn’t be a good sign. She was colder than stone.

  When a door opened and warmer arms lifted her, cradled her and brought her into the blinding light of a hotel room, she knew she would die in Winters’ embrace. It wasn’t a happy ending, but it was better than losing her soul to Dillon.

  She had won. The queen had lost. She didn’t know what that meant for Winters or Dillon.

  Winters was talking, asking questions. He didn’t call 911 for obvious reasons. He didn’t start CPR, again, no point. He didn’t put her down either.

  His lap was more comfortable than the cement stoop outside the door and more comforting as well. He sat on the bed and held her. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. But she could feel his warm strength beneath her.

  “I let you walk out. I should have gone after you. I’ll kill him. Holly, I’ll kill him. You’re okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  His words blended together in a string of reassurance-threat-encouragement-promise. All the while, his hands smoothed over her hair and arms and back.

  She was almost gone, but she was glad his voice would be the last thing she heard. His concern was sweeter than a chorus of angels.

  Winters didn’t think. He acted. Instinct had kept him alive for all this time, now he used the same instinct for Holly’s survival. He didn’t even feel the sting as his blade slid across his wrist. She was so white. She was so still. His entire focus was on her face.

  She didn’t move when he pressed his wrist to her lips. For long, long moments she didn’t move.

  ***

  Holly began to warm. It was only a whisper of heat, but she was able to blink open her eyes and look up at Winters. He didn’t smile. His eyes were too full of haunted shadows to allow his lips to curve. He was looking at her in a way she’d never seen. Tenderness? Acceptance? Love?

  Then she saw his wrist and the knife in his other hand. A chill wave of shock threatened to undo his gift of warmth. If possible, the expression in his eyes went even softer until the copper looked like caramel in the fluorescent lamp’s light.

  He didn’t say a word. He lifted her as he stood and his gaze never left hers as he tossed the blade stained with his own blood onto the bed. “The blade wasn’t important,” his eyes said. “We’ll forget about all that…for now.”

  He carried her into the bathroom and, without setting her down, he leaned to turn on the water. For long moments, he held her quietly close to his chest, until steam rose up all around them. He allowed enough space between them to lift her damp sweater up and over her head. He peeled it off her arms, one at a time, before placing each one back around his shoulders. He seemed to know she needed contact with his warmth as much as she needed…other things.

  His hands smoothed over her ribs and down to her hips, gentling the fear that came with that thought. Her loose jeans slid off easily, followed by bikini panties until she was completely bare.

  Instead of growing colder, she warmed as her skin gained greater contact with his. His chest was already exposed beneath an unbuttoned flannel shirt. He shrugged it off and it fell, brushing softly against her side in a whisper of cloth ’til it rested on the floor at his feet. She was too weak for modesty. She met his gaze as he stepped out of his jeans with an unhurried shimmy.

  Earlier, she had been cold and alone surrounded by a human world she couldn’t touch or be a part of. Now, she and Winters were surrounded by swirling steam in a world of their own.

  He stepped under the hot spray, taking her with him. Her legs slid down his body so she could stand, but she still needed the support of his arms encircled around her. She leaned into him, accepting his strength, enjoying it. Her skin immediately began to glow as it absorbed every bit of heat from the water until it hit their feet several degrees cooler than it had been on their faces.

  He held her there, under the spray until she grew accustomed to returning warmth and was able to notice other things. His body seemed even larger in the tiny hotel bath. It was marked with scars, but they didn’t detract from his lean, muscled beauty. Water rushed over the ridges and plains of his physique, painting it with glistening streams of moisture highlights. Holly was weak, but she wasn’t blind. She was suitably impressed.

  Dillon had a pale, whipcord strength and cool allure. He was polished and sultry. He was temptation in snakeskin boots.

  But Winters was the embodiment of heat.

  He had turned from his emotions to become a killer, but those emotions still burned beneath the surface. He was passion held in check, fervor channeled to a purpose, desire waiting to erupt. You saw it in the way his muscles flexed. You saw it in the way his eyes burned. She felt it in the way his fingers trembled on her back.

  She wanted him so badly. Would have, even if they had met in a simple, innocent way back a lifetime ago when she was a regular young woman. They had been thrown together by dark circumstance and it had blinded her at first. She hadn’t seen past the blade…at first. Then when she had, she had known it was hopeless. How could you long to touch a vampire hunter when you were a vampire?

  Warmed enough to feel again, her body began to shiver. Holly pulled back from Winters and wrapped her arms around herself. What had changed? She was still a vampire. He was still a vampire hunter. He was a warm, beautiful man being caressed by a hot flow of water several inches away from her…but he wasn’t touchable. Like the rosebud she’d been afraid to hold earlier in the evening, Winters wasn’t for her.

  Exposed, vulnerable and aching to make love to a man who had rejected her time and time again, Holly refused to reach for him.

  Winters moved. He picked up the shampoo and squeezed a large dollop of pink gel into his palm. Then he smiled.

  Holly froze mid-shiver. The shock of his sudden smile and the way it transformed his face made her catch her breath. The good, sweet familiar scent of strawberries filled her nose as the wonder of Winters smiling at her filled her in other ways.

  Winters was only inches away, yet he used the hand that wasn’t full of shampoo to crook his finger in her direction.

  Oh, heavens. Had she ever expected to see wicked humor reflected in those deep, brown eyes?

  Holly was suddenly afraid. She was too weak to play human with him. If she took one slippery step in his direction, she would slide all the way to the point of no turning back.

  Winters saw her fear and his eyes gentled. He took the step for her, rubbing his hands together to lather the shampoo. Holly was bombarded by two sensations. His strong, rhythmic fingers massaging the shampoo into her hair and the way his movements made his body slide against hers.

  His slightly spicy aftershave scent was almost overpowered by the sweet scent of the shampoo. Without thinking, Holly leaned into him to chase the hint of spice and breathe it in. He didn’t jump back. He didn’t push her away. He continued to wash her hair, slowly and thoroughly, as her nose brushed the skin of his chest.

  Holly hovered, enjoying the feel of his fingers on her scalp, filling her lungs with his unique, masculine fragrance. The moment was precious to her because it couldn’t last. They could step away from each other or they could go places together they’d never gone before. She hovered because she wouldn’t be the one to make that call.

  Winters tilted her head back under the spray to rinse away the shampoo and the move brought him even closer. She closed her eyes as lather slid down their bodies to puddle at their feet. While her eyes were
closed, her other senses were heightened. Her nipples hardened as his chest teased against hers. Lather tickled and his hands cradled her face, the warm, wet pads of his thumbs brushed her cheeks. Then his lips whispered across hers.

  Holly had experienced full-on sex with guys that didn’t shatter her as fully as that one, soft, close-mouthed kiss.

  Tears began to leak from her eyes. She didn’t want to cry. Tonight had seen her weakened beyond belief, but she didn’t want to cry.

  Winters finally spoke. “Night after night, I’ve listened to you shower. For hours. I’ve wanted to make you stop. I’ve wanted…”

  She opened her eyes as he pulled her closer with his hands on either side of her face. His thumbs soothed the moisture at the corners of her eyes, helping to blend and disguise the tears with the spray from the shower.

  “Things are…complicated…between us. But you are sweet and clean and untainted. What Dillon did to you…”

  Holly shuddered and Winters leaned in again to speak against her lips.

  “You don’t have to keep trying to wash it away.”

  Holly blinked and Winters kissed her again. This time his lips softened and lingered and tempted her to relax.

  “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Holly. That’s why I pulled away earlier tonight. I wasn’t afraid of you. I was afraid of wanting you and what it would mean for us.”

  “I can’t…this can’t happen.”

  “You’re wrong. I was wrong to pull away. This has to happen. Just. Like. This.”

  He punctuated his words with deeper and deeper kisses.

  Holly wondered how she could have ever thought Dillon was persuasive. She was on fire and so lightheaded she could hardly think. His hands made her dizzier still as they moved from her face to caress down her neck and shoulders and sides.

  Dillon had wanted her to let go and give in to what she had become. He wanted her to glory in it as he did. He wanted her to join with him in using blood as a drug to wash away the past.

  Winters just wanted her to live. The contrast was staggering. For the first time, Holly wondered if Winters did love her…just a little. For the first time, she knew she loved him. And she knew she could walk the line. She knew he was safe in her arms. Hot and trembling and oh-so-gonna-get-jumped, but safe.

  “I want you,” she admitted without shame or remorse or fear. She claimed her feelings and felt the glory of her emotion flood her skin with a thrill of anticipation.

  “It’s about time.”

  With another smile, he dipped in for a kiss, and Holly held him. Her hands threaded into his hair and she brought him closer so she could morph the teasing brush of his smiling lips into a deep, intimate caress. He groaned into her mouth and opened his lips to allow her tongue to taste his. Now that she wasn’t holding back, the heat rose up between them and negated the cooling spray on her back.

  The kiss was the first one they had shared without any hesitation and Holly grew faint with the knowledge that he wanted her to want him. She didn’t have to be nervous. She didn’t have to worry. She didn’t have to stop.

  His hands supported her enough to allow her to wrap her legs around his waist. He groaned again and kissed her with greater passion when intimate parts of her brushed and opened against his stomach.

  ***

  He didn’t bother to turn off the shower. He didn’t think he remembered how a faucet worked. He stepped out and continued to take her fevered kisses, meeting her tongue strokes and sliding lips as best as he could and still walk without giving in to his weakened knees. They dripped across the room to the bed and collapsed onto the sheets. He hardly noticed as the bed grew damp beneath them from their moisture-soaked bodies.

  Winters wanted to take her. He’d never felt such a strong, primitive urge to physically claim a woman and make her his. The fading bite marks on her neck only spurred him on.

  Without thinking, he leaned in to bathe the bruises with his tongue. Holly caught her breath and stilled, but as he continued to lick and nuzzle and erase, she moaned and arched her neck to give him greater access.

  He had seen her resist Dillon again and again. That she opened herself to him was heady and humbling, intoxicating and sobering all at the same time. He gloried in it, pushing away the thought that she would ever come to regret it.

  ***

  The hunger roared to life as Winters played a dangerous game with her already tender flesh. Did he know what he was doing? She had resisted the pleasure-pain with Dillon. She couldn’t resist Winters. He held her heart at the same time as her body and she needed to be closer to him, closer than was humanly possible.

  While his mouth on her neck overwhelmed any sensation that Dillon had ever caused, his hand slipped between their bodies to tease her. She couldn’t hide what their lovemaking had done for her and didn’t want to. His fingers slid and Holly groaned.

  It was all the encouragement he needed.

  Winters shifted his hips to bring the center of his heat against her. She cried out as he burned and she burned and they both burned even hotter together. She had been alone for so long. As he moved to slide inside of her, she didn’t mind the tears that sprang up to spill down her cheeks. The joining of their bodies was an affirmation that she was alive and loving and not out in the cold.

  It also sent her over the edge.

  His chest was salty and soapy and hot. She didn’t hesitate or try to be gentle or give him a chance to change his mind. They were beyond all of that. As he moved his hips to stroke in and out and establish a rhythm that was both perfect and maddening, Holly pierced his skin. He cried out, but moved even faster, obviously spurred on by her mouth and teeth and tongue.

  She took just enough to warm and sustain, but not enough to weaken. He was safe in her arms. He. Was. Safe.

  She thought she was satisfied. She thought she was as warm as it was safe for her to be. Until Winters began to move in a more serious rhythm, taking her with him on a passionate rocking that had her focusing on their bodies and where their bodies joined. Slick and warm with the perfect friction and slide, he brought her higher, harder than she had ever been and when he stiffened and climaxed and filled her with even greater warmth, she was swept higher still. And she realized, she wasn’t safe. Not at all. Because if he didn’t love her she was lost.

  ***

  Winters lay satiated and satisfied. He wasn’t drained. He was energized. He thought he had seen it all in the past year, but Holly had proved him wrong. It hadn’t been about whips and chains. It had been intimate and sweet and more tender than he could have imagined. And hot. Very, very hot. He was a man and he had to admit it. Damn hot.

  Holly was almost sleeping. It had to be close to sunrise. He rose to pull the thick foam-backed drapes across the window. It faced an alley created by two wings of the motel coming together, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He also put two chair cushions along the seam of the door where it didn’t quite meet the floor.

  Holly stirred when he came back to bed, but he knew she’d be unresponsive in a few moments. It was the only thing that kept him from waking her up with kisses and caresses to greet the dawn.

  As he lifted the cover to join her, the scent of roses surprised him. So did the crushed petals that fell from the straightened sheets. Holly wasn’t asleep yet. She roused enough to reach out and gather the petals into a small pile of bruised silk in her hand. Her eyelids were heavy, but she was fully awake. She looked well and truly rumpled, but best of all for his ego and his peace of mind, she had a faint flush of pink on her cheeks.

  “I’ve seen mints on a pillow, but something tells me the cleaning staff of a place like this doesn’t leave roses in the sheets,” he joked.

  Holly didn’t smile. Her fingers closed around the petals and her cheeks blushed darker. Against her pale skin, the color was stark. He felt his own smile fade.

  “Dillon?”

  He didn’t know how he knew it. He hadn’t seen the rose when he’d carried her in from the
doorway, but he’d been completely focused on her dying.

  “He was at the church…the community center. It was decorated for a wedding and he took this from the centerpiece.”

  “And gave it to you.”

  She fingered the destroyed flower in her hand, shifted the petals this way and that as if it was a puzzle she was trying to piece together. He wanted the flower in the trash, out the door, any freaking where but in their bed.

  “He pressed in into my hand…after…” She trailed off and he didn’t like the look on her face. It was softly thoughtful as if she was remembering sweetness not horror.

  “And you kept it. His idea of seduction is to almost drain you dry and then give you flowers. And you kept it.” He didn’t feel energized anymore, just stunned. His fingers were actually numb with it. He flexed them.

  “The queen took control again or she took away his ability to control himself, anyway. I don’t think he planned to…drain me.” She stuttered over that last, at least. There was no way to gloss over that.

  “No, he just planned to seduce you. That’s innocent enough. Poor guy, he wants to carry you away to the Kasbah…without your permission. He isn’t a monster. He’s just misunderstood.” He flexed his fingers again and wished they were around Dillon’s throat or at least ripping those rose petals into ten thousand pieces.

  “He was a man, once,” Holly said.

  He didn’t need the reminder. “And you feel something for him?” He did not just ask that and he did not sound like a jilted lover, no way.

  “No…yes…there’s a certain…understanding. He was a man. I was a woman. And, now, we’re not.” It was like she was reasoning through an earlier conversation with the greater understanding of hindsight. His temperature spiked higher. So, she had an understanding with Dillon and here he’d thought they were immortal enemies.