Hunger Awakened Page 3

  “Sixth house on the left.”

  Her heart sped up as she pulled into the drive he’d indicated. The car paused at the closed gate, and she was just about to turn to him when the gate slowly began to open. Some sort of sensor, perhaps? Nice.

  Bast’s house was down a cobbled drive, set far away from the street. The two-story home was surrounded by manicured bushes, the red bricks highlighted by decorative lighting. What she could see of the molding guaranteed someone had an eye for detail. Every one of the double-paned windows had a spotlight shining against its panes. The bushes beneath each of them had been trimmed to ankle high. Definitely someone taking precautions with safety there.

  He reached for a button on the rearview mirror then pushed it. The door to an attached three-car garage lifted slowly, and Alice pointed the Ferrari into it. Two additional cars, one a late-model Benz, the other some foreign number she didn’t recognize, already waited inside.

  Turning off the engine once parked, she felt assaulted by the sudden silence.

  Bast didn’t wait for her to ask what next?—the words poised on her lips—before exiting the vehicle. Nor did he bother to wait for her when he entered the house through a side door, his gait unsteady.

  Ingrate.

  So, she could sit here and wait for an invitation not likely to be extended. She could walk back down the drive then find her way back to a homeless shelter, assuming any would have an open bed left. Or, she could just follow him in and see what happened next, satisfying her raging curiosity. Maybe even wrangle a meal out of her host, since the doughnut had gone the way of the wind a while ago. Hell, she didn’t remember when she’d even lost it. Bast might consider a financial donation and if he didn’t, maybe she could find one worth borrowing until she could pay him back.

  She sighed.

  Yeah. Like this would be a tough decision to make.

  * * *

  Bast couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. Correction. He’d never felt like this. Like something the dog threw up.

  His stomach ached. A gnawing, crawling pang that started at the center and then radiated outward. From there it traveled at a snail’s pace, covering his torso, then limbs. Like a creeper vine, except on the inside.

  And the hunger?

  Christ, every time he came to his senses, all he could focus on was that thick, sweet scent of human. His ears tuned in to the slow knocks of her heart. Each time it sped up, he had to chew on the inside of his cheek to keep from lunging after her.

  He’d never been this out of control in his life. Not once in almost four hundred years.

  Bringing her here was such a bad idea. The thought of letting her go, even worse. He needed sex and to be fed but was getting neither, and planned on acting like it didn’t matter.

  Bast snorted. Who the fuck did he think he was kidding?

  The sound of footsteps on the kitchen tile pulled him out of his thoughts. He glanced back to find the human shifting from side to side. She looked ready to bolt, and that seductive heartbeat began to flutter against her ribs. Something to be said that she held her ground when he turned to face her.

  “Haven’t left?” He was both pleased and intrigued that she’d stayed.

  “Well, yeah, um...you’re still sick.”

  His stomach began chewing on itself again. A not-so-gentle reminder. “S’all good, but thank you. For all of it.” Why had she decided to stay? Then he remembered. Something about watching her pennies. “Should I call you a cab? My treat, of course.”

  Dark blue eyes refused to look at him, instead moving in the direction of the appliances that never saw use. To bare yellow walls in the hallway. To sandstone tile. “You’re still sick,” she repeated.

  “And?” Bast folded his arms over his chest.

  “You shouldn’t be left alone. Not until you see a doctor.”

  “Because...”

  She looked directly at him this time. “What if you passed out again? What happens if you fall—”

  “And can’t get up?” he added dryly, channeling the old television commercial.

  “Well, yeah.” She suddenly seemed to realize he’d been teasing her with that last line. Her face went a delightful shade of pink, enough to make his teeth pulse.

  “I have a feeling there’s more to this.”

  “Okay then, what if we made a deal?” Her gaze almost made it to the height of his chin this time.

  “A deal.”

  “I could make sure you didn’t die or something in the night.”

  He almost grinned. If anything, the dark rejuvenated him. “That would be very kind of you.”

  “And in return,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “you could let me sleep on the couch tonight.”

  Bad idea. Very bad idea. There was no way in heaven or hell he would ever let a human in his life. Not now. Especially not now with the unspoken rivalry between vampires and lycans threatening to erupt into violence. He had a duty to his nation and to the members he’d been sworn to protect. Letting her inside the house was damned near bad enough.

  He opened his mouth, poised to tell her absolutely not. What came out instead was, “Fine.”

  Inwardly, Bast groaned.

  “Only just for the night. I won’t be a problem. Just a couch and—wait. What?”

  She’d fired off word after word, barely stopping to breathe. And the persistent thrum of blood lingering just this side of his hearing did wicked things to his thinking.

  He studied her face—this woman whose name he didn’t even know—beneath the soft overhead light. Perhaps for the first time since they’d met.

  Round blue eyes beckoned for his attention first, but then his gaze drifted to the small beauty mark just above the fleshy part of her cheek. Her small buttonlike nose and kewpie doll lips made her appear very young. Not much more than mid-twenties, he’d guess.

  The faded gray shirt she wore made Bast frown as he took in the streaks of dark red staining it. His mind said blood while his memory reminded him it was his. Worn blue jeans hung loosely on her frame. A split-second’s pause made him venture into imagining what she might look like outside of them.

  But that wasn’t right. She was a little skinny. Just shy of pretty. Too young. Definitely not his type. His type wore stilettos and designer clothes. Drove expensive cars and moved like silk, leaving behind fragrant trails of Guerlain or Shalimar in their wakes.

  Still, he needed to feed. She stood right here in front of him. An untouched human. His for the taking.

  “What’s your name?” He stepped forward, wanting to breathe in the scent of her blood again. If he couldn’t get perfume, he’d settle for the next best thing to inhale.

  She stepped back. “Alice.”

  Bast fought the urge to step toward her again. He needed food so badly. “A place to sleep for the night is the least I can provide.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t...”

  He could hear the doubt creeping into her voice. Reconsidering what he wanted from her in exchange, perhaps. A single woman alone in the home of a man she didn’t know could lead to very bad things. What she didn’t know about him could get her killed.

  His stomach twisted, inciting an eruption of goose bumps across his skin. A wave of nausea collided into him, the aftereffects enough to make his hand shoot out to grasp the slate countertop or otherwise collapse. The incisors he’d managed to hide until now lengthened, pulsing with a hollow ache. N
eeded to pierce skin.

  He doubled over, fighting to hide his need. The last bit of common sense clinging to his consciousness shouted at him to call for help. To get someone from the guard over here fast. But the intoxicating scent of blood—the human Alice—lured the thought away. Bast could only think of feeding his thirst, of satisfying the parasitic sexual lust growing in tune with his need to drink from her.

  Alice rushed forward, cradling him against her body. Such a dangerous place for her to be. Their new position put his mouth so close to her neck. To her beating pulse. Bast shifted his attention. Elsewhere. Needed to focus on something else.

  He took one jerky step forward, almost off-balancing them both. He must have outweighed her by upwards of sixty or seventy pounds, at least. It was cute she thought she could keep him upright if his own body decided to fail.

  “Whoa, there. We need to get you off your feet,” she said. “Which way to your bedroom?”

  He swallowed hard. “Why are you helping me?”

  She considered it for a minute, her gaze meeting his. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Karma.”

  But he had no karma. No goodwill. All he could think of now was feeding and sex. Feeding during sex. Taking from Alice until he’d satisfied his carnal and primal appetites. “You should go.” He fought with every heartbeat to regain control of himself. Some sort of maneuver Alice used forced him to take another step. Then another. Her leverage was reminiscent of defense moves he’d taught his men. She’d done this before.

  “I’ll get you in bed, call someone to come over for you and then I’ll go.”

  “But...” Even to himself he sounded weak.

  “Tell me where your room is. And then who I can call.”

  “You should—”

  “Go. You said that.” She craned her neck, the subtle gesture enough to make his lips brush against her skin. “Is it down here?”

  He shuddered. She smelled so good. Christ, so good. Maybe if he ran his tongue across her neck, the taste would be enough. He’d regain his control. One little taste. “Alice, please go. Before...”

  Before he took her? No. He’d never forced himself on anyone before and he wouldn’t do so tonight, no matter how insane the want made him. If he hurt one hair on her head, he’d drive a stake through his own heart afterward. That was a vow.

  “You’re on fire,” she muttered. Her hand went to his forehead in the universal gesture mothers everywhere used to test for a fever. “Do you have a thermometer?”

  “No.” Black spots hovered in his sightline, and all thoughts of blood and sex crumbled.

  “Hold on.” Alice brought her hand around his waist again, her breast pressing into his side. His cock twitched just enough to remind Bast that perhaps not all thoughts of sex had been driven away.

  “I won’t hurt you.” Bast tried to lift his head, now seemingly weighing a hundred pounds.

  “I know you won’t.” A light flooded the darkened hallway they’d been traveling. “Here we go.”

  She’d found one of the guest bathrooms. This bath had been decorated in all white with highlights of gold reflecting from the fixtures, decorative rugs and original paintings hanging in the recesses built for that purpose. The interior designer said the gold would take away the sterility of such a stark room. He’d nodded and signed the checks.

  “Sit.” Alice directed him to the toilet and let gravity do its thing. She pushed the coat from his shoulders, not batting an eyelash when she slipped off his shoulder holster housing a Glock. Her fingers worked quickly, loosening buttons on his shirt. Removing his boots and then socks.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Cold shower slash ice bath, or hospital. Your choice. You’re running too hot to suit me.” Intense blue eyes peered up at him from where she kneeled on the cold floor. “Tell me you can handle the pants yourself.”

  Shaky legs almost buckled when he stood, but Bast managed to use the vanity for support. Alice inclined her head away when he reached for the button at his waist. He paused, considering just how well his little Florence Nightingale would appreciate or perhaps run screaming from his arousal, not yet beaten into submission. With a mental shrug, he flicked the button and then reached for the zipper.

  Either the cold shower would cure what ailed him or simply make things much, much more interesting.

  Chapter Three

  Breathe. A naked man looked just like another naked man. They all had the same parts. She’d had lovers before. Hell, she’d seen Richard naked when she’d bathed him during his self-prescribed home recovery.

  But when Alice looked at Bast, all thoughts of her brother fled.

  How his silky shirt had hidden all that toned sinew and muscle, she’d never know. He’d felt solid, his flesh unyielding beneath her fingers where she’d gripped him, but the definition of his chest and abs belonged to someone otherworldly. Men in real life just didn’t look like this. Except he was here. In real life. And oh-so-drool-worthy.

  Kneeling before him, she marveled over the fine line of dark hair along his abdomen, pointing its way down into those tight leather pants. And as much as she wanted to follow the trail, she kept her gaze above his waist. Poor guy was sicker than a dog, and all she could do was fuel fantasies while ogling him? Way to be.

  She studied his feet instead, noting the delicate bones. The trimmed nails. But then his foot lifted, one after the other, and black leather pooled before her. Those incredible tight pants no longer hugged his body, instead now lying on the floor.

  Suddenly, all commands to herself to breathe became a foreign language she’d never learned. Heat flooded her cheeks, and without looking at herself in the mirror, Alice was sure her skin glowed red all over. Even her scalp tingled with awareness.

  Casting her face even further toward the gold mat, she pointed with her finger in the general direction of the shower. “Inside.” It came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Can you manage on your own?”

  “I think so.” He took an unsteady step forward, and then another.

  Alice bit her lip, fighting with herself on whether she should go to him or not. The sound of running water a moment later assuaged her conscience.

  “I’m just going to sit here.” Back turned. Head down. “Keep talking and let me know you’re all right. I don’t want the sound of you falling being my only clue you’ve passed out. And keep the temp cold!”

  “I’ve never been sick before,” he said over the sound of displaced water.

  “Of course you have. Everyone’s gotten sick at least once.”

  “Not me.”

  “Never?” Alice frowned.

  “Not that I can remember.”

  Surely he meant as an adult. All kids got sick. “That’s weird, but maybe you got some bad oysters or something.”

  He chuckled, mirthless and dry. “Or something, perhaps.”

  Getting him to speak was going to be a small chore. A long silence stretched between them before Alice found something worth poking at. “So...what kind of work do you do?”

  Bast didn’t respond at first, the silence making her turn toward him. “Private security.”

  Her brow lifted. “Private security gets you all this?”

  “I’ve been in business a very long time. But you’ve got good instincts. It didn’t all come from my job.” He stared at her through the shower glass door, their eyes meeting, before he turned his back. Only then did Alice recognize the clarity wit
h which she saw him. There was no steam to fog up the glass, giving her a teasing view. No rippling or fracturing to distort parts of him. What she saw was frank masculinity at its finest.

  It didn’t help that the shower stall could hold a football team. Hell, she’d had bedrooms smaller than inside there. Three showerheads sprayed Bast with water, flattening his thick, dark hair. A few feet behind him, bottles of bath products lined a marble seating area. Next to the seat, she noted a fourth showerhead, this one attached to a wand. Perfect for a woman who planned on shaving her legs. All of this she took in with a three-second sweep, a pathetic attempt to look at anything but the man in the middle whose presence demanded she watch him instead.

  Movement grabbed her attention again, and she swung her gaze to him—above the waist still—another frown drawing down her eyebrows when he staggered. “Are you feeling any better? Or different?”

  He shook his head before his body bowed. An arm wrapped around his waist, as if trying to hold his insides in place, before he swayed. Bast dropped like a stone weight, his head cracking against the tile with a sickening crash.

  Alice scrambled to her feet, throwing open the shower door and rushing to his side only seconds later. “Bast!”

  Ice water stabbed her skin. How had he been able to stand it? At least five minutes of freezing torture, like the snow had melted only a nanosecond before. Her skin erupted in goose bumps right away, but she fought down a shiver.

  When he moaned, his body writhing on the stone floor, she steadied him with a hand. “Hold on. Lemme check you out first.” Her voice sounded shaky. “That was one hell of a fall.”

  “Christ, it was.”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Somewhere between zero and ten. I’m leaning toward two.” He laughed, mirthlessly. “I don’t get sick,” he insisted.

  Alice tried not to smile. She pushed her hands through his hair, trying to locate any sign of damage. “Yeah, well, you lying here beneath a freezing shower says otherwise. I’m surprised you didn’t break something when you hit the ground.”