He swore again as she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. A moment later, he felt the dampness of her tears on his skin.
Her trust routed the beast within him as effectively as if she had splashed holy water in his face.
Drawing her closer, he kissed her cheek. “Go to sleep, darlin’,” he whispered. “There won’t be any bad dreams tonight.”
“Make love to me, Rane.”
“Savanah…”
“Please make love to me, Rane. Make me forget…everything.”
He wasn’t surprised or shocked by her request. It was common enough in times of grief or stress for mortals to seek forgetfulness, either by drinking themselves into oblivion, or indulging in the primal urge to mate, not as an act of love but of renewal.
Drawing Savanah into his embrace, he kissed her gently, but she didn’t want gentle. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, slid one hand behind his neck, and kissed him as if her life and her sanity depended on it. And maybe they did, he mused, as he deepened the kiss.
He trailed his hands over her body, his own absorbing her heat. She was young, her skin smooth and firm, supple as she writhed against him. He slid his hand under her nightgown, his fingertips sliding up her calf, lightly massaging the smooth skin of her thigh, her belly, the underside of one breast. Her moan was one of pleasure and invitation.
He rose over her, his nostrils flaring. She smelled of toothpaste and soap, of woman and musk. It was a powerful combination, but stronger still was the steady beat of her heart, the constant lure of her life’s blood flowing just beneath the surface of her heated flesh.
He closed his eyes against the temptation to lower his head to her neck; instead he brushed a kiss across her cheek and tasted the salt of her tears.
Rane swore softly. He had done a lot of despicable things in his life, but he had never violated a woman who was grieving for the loss of a loved one. She might want him tonight, but she would hate him tomorrow, just as she would surely hate him when she knew the truth about his existence.
“Savanah, you should get some rest.”
“Don’t you want me?” She ran her hands over his chest, lightly, provocatively.
“Of course, but…” He groaned as her hand dropped lower, covering his arousal.
“Then take me,” she whispered.
And because it was what she wanted, because he wasn’t made of stone, he caressed her until she was on the brink and then he sheathed himself deep inside her.
There was a moment of resistance. A telling moment that had Rane cursing himself as he realized he was the first man Savanah had taken to her bed. It touched something deep within him, something he had thought forever dead.
And then she murmured his name, her voice whisper-soft, filled with love and need, and in that instant, he knew he would willingly sacrifice his life and everything he possessed to protect the woman in his arms.
Chapter Ten
He stood looking out the window, a glass of expensive whiskey in one hand, his eyes narrowed as he watched her cross the room. “Well, is it done?”
“Just like all the others,” she replied with a toss of her head.
“Did you have any trouble getting into the house?”
She crossed her arms over her br**sts and then, shoulders slumped, she looked up at him out of eyes swimming with tears. “What do you think?” she asked, sniffling.
He chuckled softly. He defied any man, human or otherwise, to resist her when she looked so pathetic, so helpless. “Ah, Tasha, I was a fool to doubt you.”
She basked in his praise. “I don’t understand you. What do you hope to gain by this?”
“I intend to accomplish what we failed to achieve in the war.”
She closed the distance between them. “What do you mean?”
“Why, the destruction of all the Vampires, of course.”
“Then why kill the hunters?” she asked, frowning.
“Because they don’t just hunt Vampires.”
“I see,” she murmured, though she didn’t see at all. But then, it wasn’t important. She was in love with him. She would do anything he asked.
“Did you find the books?”
“No. What made you think Gentry had them?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Why do you want them?”
“Because they’re valuable. One of them contains an updated list of hunters. It would be a handy thing to have, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.”
“The other one contains a list of Vampires, both the quick and the dead.”
She hadn’t known that, and she didn’t like it. She had managed to stay under the radar for the last fifteen years and she liked it that way.
“There aren’t as many hunters today as there were twenty years ago,” he went on, his expression thoughtful. “With peace between the Vampires and the Werewolves, there hasn’t been any need for them. The schools have shut down. The old hunters are dying off. If my information is correct, there are only a hundred or so left in the world. When they’re gone, most of their knowledge will die with them.”
“What of Mara? She won’t like it when she hears what you’re doing. It was her idea to call off the war.”
“Ah, yes, Mara. We’ve nothing to fear from her. She’s gone to Egypt, most likely for a good long time.”
“And when all the hunters are gone, what then?”
“We’ll kill a few important politicians, a few famous celebrities, an innocent or two. It will arouse the populace against the Vampires, and there will be hunts to rival those of the last century.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “It will be glorious!”
She nodded, even though none of it made a lick of sense to her. Sometimes she thought Clive was a little crazy, but then, weren’t they all?
Moving closer, she ran her hands through his hair. It was thick and brown and curled over her fingers. He was a handsome man, his body tall and compact, his eyes brown with a hint of yellow. She loved being with him, loved it when they both changed into wolves and hunted the night.
His arm snaked around her waist, his eyes burning with lust when he drew her body against his. She didn’t care what happened to the Vampires or the Werewolves or the humans or anyone else, as long as he wanted her.
Chapter Eleven
Savanah woke abruptly, her initial alarm at waking in a strange bed with a man quickly fading when she realized it was only Rane, and that he was asleep, one long leg draped over both of hers.