Then he kissed her. His lips pressed down on hers, and because she’d wanted him, for so long, Paige kissed him back. Her mouth opened beneath his. Her tongue met his, and the desire that only Drake seemed to be able to stir burned through her.
Her heart raced. Her hips arched toward him even as her ni**les tightened against his chest. One kiss…and she craved. It was the way it had always been with them. She’d never wanted anything more than she wanted him.
And she’d never been meant to have anything less.
His tongue slid over her lower lip. Stroked into her mouth. Her wolf had become an even better kisser over the years. Seducing, taking, and making her want so much more. Making her–
Drake’s head lifted. He stared down at her–with that strong, chiseled face that often slipped into her dreams, a face that had a few more fine lines now, but the same square jaw, the same high cheekbones, and the same sensual but slightly cruel lips. His eyes blazed so brightly, and she could see the same raw lust she felt reflected in his stare.
The years hadn’t changed the way he felt. He still needed, just as much as she did. He still–
“Guess that means she is yours…” The blond werewolf behind them muttered. “A vampire…with a werewolf, how twisted is–”
Drake pushed Paige away and grabbed the wolf in one fast, brutal move. “I saw your claw marks on her throat.”
Paige lifted her hand and touched the skin. She felt the light wetness of her own blood. Huh. She hadn’t even noticed the sting. After all she’d experienced in the last ten years, what did few scratches matter?
“You don’t ever touch her.” Drake tossed the guy down the hallway. The smaller werewolf’s head thudded into a wall. “You come at her with your claws again, Michael, and I’ll rip you open.”
Ah, all right, so Drake thought that the scratches mattered. She hadn’t remembered him being quite so blood-thirsty.
He swung back toward her. The lust and fury were still battling in his eyes. This wasn’t the man she’d fallen for all those years ago. The guy staring back at her–he was a primal wolf.
“Make sure no one disturbs me,” Drake ordered and he stalked back toward her. She should speak. Say something. She hadn’t said a word to the guy yet. Maybe she should start with something like…Hi, there, long time, no see. You might wonder why I disappeared without a word. I’ve got a really good story to tell you.
More like a nightmare tale. A nightmare that she’d just brought to his door.
And the door closed behind him with a soft click. Her gaze flew around the room. She’d been right. This was definitely a bedroom. Complete with one huge, rumpled bed. But at least it looked like Drake had been sleeping alone. If there’d been a she-wolf in there with him, Paige might have just let her own claws out.
When he touched her, she jumped. Paige wanted to hide her fear, but being a werewolf, he could probably smell the scent on her. Werewolves had such damn superior senses. Better than anyone or anything else in the world.
His fingers brushed over the curve of her br**sts. The guy had to slow down. This couldn’t happen. Not yet anyway. They had to talk first. “Drake, I–”
He lifted the necklace. Stared at the heavy gold etched with the carving of a wolf’s head.
She cleared her throat.
“Why are you wearing this?” Drake asked her, his voice the rumbling mix of darkness and lust that had always been able to make her yearn.
She was yearning already, but she pushed back the need and focused on what the guy was saying. Her necklace. He’d given it to her when she’d turned nineteen. The day he’d told her what he really was.
Werewolf.
That had been the day when her life had started to spiral out of control.
Time to woman up and talk. She swiped her tongue over her lips, tasted him, and managed to say, “Y-you told me…you said a werewolf would never attack me if I wore it.” The necklace had been a sign of pack protection.
His strong, tanned fingers closed around the necklace. Then he yanked and broke the gold chain in one vicious tug that seemed to claw across her heart. “I told you,” he said, voice even darker, “that this necklace meant you belonged to me.”
Ah, right, that rage was burning so bright in him.
“But then you left.” A muscle jerked in Drake’s jaw. “Disappeared.”
Paige backed up a step. When a werewolf this big and angry was coming at you, a smart woman backed the hell up.
“You vanished,” his fingers had whitened around the necklace, “when you were supposed to be mine.”
Yes, a human named Paige Sloan had promised to love him, always. But then she’d stopped being a human, and she’d become the one thing that she knew he hated.
Vampire.
“You don’t taste like death,” Drake told her.
She flinched at the cold and brutal words. Werewolves always were saying that vamps smelled and tasted like death–that was one of their many insults. So why hadn’t she expected that slam from him? Her chin lifted. “And right now, you don’t look particularly furry.” She’d never actually seen him shift. She didn’t want to, either. Paige squared her shoulders and held his gaze. “I guess we’re both full of surprises, huh?”
“You can f**king say that again.”
Her back teeth clenched together. She hadn’t expected the guy to run to her, wrap her in his arms, and immediately swear his undying love. She’d let that dream die a long time ago. But, jeez, did he want to rip her soul out or what? “Look, I know you aren’t exactly happy to see me–”
He advanced. She backed up once more. The last thing she wanted was for him to put those big, warm hands of his on her again. When he touched her, her body went into sexual overdrive. She’d gone way too long without a lover.
No one but him.
Right. Too damn long.
But lust had to wait. For now.
“Do you know how long I looked for you?” Drake demanded. She could see the edge of his fangs. Probably not a good sign. What was that saying in the vamp world? When you saw a wolf’s fangs, you were about to see hell. He shook his head slowly and said, “You vanished.”
It wasn’t like she’d wanted to leave him. But he’d been marked to be the next alpha of his pack and she’d been–
Bitten.
“I didn’t think you wanted a vampire turning up on your doorstep.” Some of her own anger–the anger she usually worked so hard to keep in check–broke through her fraying control. “Even if I was a vamp that you used to screw.”