Midnight Awakening (Midnight Breed 3)

Ah, fuck. Tegan reeled back, saliva surging into his mouth at the instant, swelling urge to taste that sweet spot.

Off limits, man, he told himself harshly. And way the hell out of your league.

His movements were quick now, his breath sawing past the tips of his emerging fangs as he tugged the ends of her robe around the nakedness of her body. Her nose had begun to bleed again from her migraine. The trickle of bright scarlet smudged the soft white skin of her cheek. He dabbed away the blood with the hem of his black tee-shirt, trying to ignore the sweet fragrance that called to everything in him that was Breed. Her fluttering pulse was like a drumbeat in his ears, the rapid little ticking of her carotid drawing his eyes to the graceful line of her neck.

Damn, he thought, mentally wrenching his gaze away. His own appetite sharpened just to be near her. He hungered now, fiercely, even though it hadn't been that long since his last hunt. Not that the street-weary, foul humans he took his nourishment from could compare to the tender beauty spread out before him now.

Elise winced behind her closed eyelids, moaning softly, still in pain. She was so vulnerable right now, so defenseless against the psychic anguish.

And at the moment, he was all she had.

Tegan reached out to her and smoothed his fingers over her cool, damp forehead. He gently pressed his palm over her closed eyes.

Sleep, he told her, putting her in a light trance.

When her breathing slowed to something close to normal, and the tension eased out of her body, Tegan sat back and watched her slide into a calm, restful slumber.

Chapter Six

Elise woke up slowly, feeling as though her consciousness had been transported somewhere far away and tranquil, only to be returned to her body like a feather carried gently on the breeze. Maybe it was a dream. A long, sweet dream...a peace she hadn't known for months. She stretched a little on the futon, her bare legs rasping against the terry-cloth of her bathrobe and the soft crush of a blanket that covered her from chin to toe. She snuggled deeper into the pleasant warmth, sighing, and the sound of her own breath startled her.

No noise.

No blaring music or chattering television, even though she couldn't sleep--could hardly function--without them.

Her eyes snapped open and she waited for the psychic assault to hit her. But there was only silence. Dear Lord. Seconds passed, then a full minute or more...and there was only blessed, wondrous silence.

Sleep well?

The deep male voice carried from across the studio apartment somewhere. She smelled toast browning, and the buttery scent of eggs sizzling in a fry pan. Tegan was standing in her meager kitchen, apparently cooking breakfast. Which only made the surrealism of the morning that much more complete.

What happened? Her voice was a soft croak in her throat. She cleared it and tried again. What are you doing here?

Oh, God. He didn't have to answer because she remembered as soon as the words left her lips. She recalled the migraine that had laid her low, and the unexpected return of Tegan some hours after he'd found her following her run-in with the Rogues. He'd come back and broken into her apartment for some reason. Had muted the cushioning noise that she needed so badly.

Elise remembered waking in agony. In a flood of humiliation, she remembered collapsing in a blind hysteria near the window, trying to fix the soundproofing--which was all neatly back in place now, she noticed.

And she also remembered the sensation of being soothed into a calming state of numbness...

By Tegan? Holding her robe in place, Elise moved aside the blanket and carefully eased herself into a sitting position on the futon. She still didn't trust her surroundings, certain the blast of mental anguish was going to hit her at any moment.

What did you do to me last night?

You needed help, so I helped you.

He made it sound like an accusation as he leaned back against the counter near the stove, watching her with a look of cool detachment. He was dressed in night battle clothes: a black knit tee- shirt and black fatigues; his leather gun holster and belt of terrible-looking blades lay on the counter across from him.

Elise met the sharp, measuring gaze that was fixed on her from across the room. You knocked me out somehow?

Just a mild trance so you could sleep.

She clutched the lapels of her bathrobe in her fist, suddenly very aware of the fact that she didn't have anything on beneath the loose drape of the terry-cloth. And last night, this warrior had put her in a forced doze, leaving her totally at his mercy? A tremor of alarm ran through her at the thought.

Tegan must have read the look in her eyes because he scoffed a bit, low under his breath. So, you Darkhaven folks see the Order not only as cold-blooded killers but rapists as well? Or is that distinction reserved primarily for me alone?

You've never hurt me, Elise said, feeling bad that she'd let her ingrained biases doubt him. If you wanted to do anything harmful to me, I think you would have by now.

He smirked. Such a ringing declaration of faith. I suppose I should be flattered.