Love Bites

He groaned, and the sound didn’t speak of pain. Far from it. His free hand threaded through her hair and he pressed his wrist farther between her lips, urging her on. Urging her teeth to sink even deeper.

Teeth, she realized, that were extending as if they were fangs.

Chapter Eight

Kellan sagged in the chair in the small sitting area across from the bed and rubbed his eyes. They should have been gritty, because he hadn’t slept for more than minutes in days. But lucky him, he was a vampire. Only weeks without sleep would cause his eyes to hurt, and even then the pain would subside with mere hours of rest.

“Lucky me,” he said under his breath, staring at the woman lying motionless on his bed.

Her dark hair spilled over the white pillows, highlighting her pallor. With each day that passed, her once-tawny skin paled further, and her rosy lips darkened. Now they were a delectable shade of claret. And her body had changed as well, curves rounding where hollows had once ruled.

He envisioned her in a dress of deep emerald velvet, with a high neckline that swept along her delicate collarbone. She would be stunning.

Once the change was complete, he would buy her that dress. Or have one made. He would give her everything she’d ever wanted. More, he would give her things she hadn’t even known to want.

If she ever woke, that is.

He knew it was all part of the change. He’d pored over books, even had endless discussions with the infernal Emily, who viewed vampirism as some sort of exciting spectacle not unlike the two-headed woman at the local fair. But he couldn’t deny she was an expert on the subject. On most subjects, actually, something he found admirable when he wasn’t annoyed by her superior intellect.

He’d never been an A student in school. Bs had been tough enough to manage. Unlike his best friend, Kellan hadn’t enjoyed being trapped for hours on end in a classroom. He’d wanted to see things, experience life.

His lips twisted. Experience women, more accurately.

Luke had been the one with the mind for facts and figures. He’d intended to be a high-powered accountant. When that hadn’t worked out, he’d turned his able mind toward the stock market. He’d become a broker who was more often heard from than seen, and it was his financial expertise that allowed them to live as well as they did. It certainly had little to do with Kellan’s earning abilities.

He glanced at the easel in the corner of the room. He was an artist, though he despised the term. To him, the word “artist” brought to mind scrawny men with foppish hats and pencil mustaches. So he skipped the self-indulgent title, preferring to think of himself as a craftsman in a visual medium. He liked to draw. Sketch, more precisely. His medium was charcoal, and his subject? Lately, he had but one. And she was sleeping several feet away.

Stacks of drawings he’d done of her were piled on the table next to his easel. He’d started doing them the night they’d met at Pastry ’n’ Joe, and now she seemed to be the only thing he was capable of rendering. Her hair, so luxuriant and dark. Her eyes, such an impassioned, smoky green. Even though they were red now, he knew the green would return. In time.

Time was something he happened to have a lot of. Patience, however, was not.

He opened the book on his knee, flipping to the page he’d marked. He’d reread the article about the fertility of latent vampires so many times he could probably recite the information cold. But he read it once more, the lines he’d underlined in charcoal leaping out at him.

Fertility peaks after the first intake of blood, rising sharply before beginning to lessen within 24-28 hours. If implantation is to occur, intercourse must take place almost immediately after the original infusion.

He’d mated with Sydney less than forty-eight hours after biting her in her car. Then Lucas had had sex with her less than twelve hours after that. Between her usage of birth control and the timing, the likelihood was that she wasn’t pregnant. If she was, the chance that Lucas was the father was remote.

Kellan shut the book. Remote was still too high as far as he was concerned. Not that it mattered. Whatever was, was. She wanted a child, that much was clear. If she was indeed pregnant with Lucas’s baby, he would learn to love the child as his own.

As he already loved her.

He rose and walked over to the bed, then sat next to her to stroke her feather-soft cheek. Her skin had changed, too. As lovely as she’d been before, now she was luminescent. Maybe the eyes of love influenced his opinion slightly, but he didn’t think so. His Sydney was perfect.

He skimmed his hand down her arm to her long fingers, tipped with aqua blue nails. He smiled and kept going, his palm finally resting on the concave dip of her stomach.

Sydney stirred, her eyelashes fluttering against her almost transparent cheeks. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I doubt that very seriously.” He leaned over to brush his lips over hers. She usually woke once or twice a day, most often to feed or visit the bathroom, though the latter need was lessening as the days passed. Conversation between them had been scarce, but he often took advantage of the opportunity to hold her while she slept. Sometimes touch was more powerful than words, and he wanted her to know how much he treasured her.

He expected her to continue, but she didn’t. Instead, she yawned and stretched, jiggling her ample breasts under her flimsy green nightgown. He’d found a drawer of lingerie at her apartment, and had immediately scooped this particular item into the bag of things he’d gathered. He imagined the gown was a bit tighter on her now than it had once been, but he was okay with that.

Kellan smiled, his eyes devouring the gorgeous slope of her cleavage. More than okay.

The vibrant color suited her, and he’d yearned to see the deep hue against her pale skin. Now he saw even more. Her nipples strained against the thin fabric, beckoning him.

His mouth dried. And his blood pumped hot.

“You weren’t here the last time I woke.”