Night's Pleasure (Children of The Night 4)

Rane drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I just wish I knew who sent him.”

“What makes you think he was working for someone else?” The idea chilled her to the bone. She wanted to believe that, with the Werewolf’s death, her worries were over.

“Just a hunch. I keep asking myself why a Werewolf would want the books, and why a Werewolf and a Vampire are working together.”

“So he wasn’t the Werewolf you smelled at my house?”

“No.” Rane ran a hand over his jaw. “I can understand why a Vampire would want the books, but a Werewolf…?” He shook his head. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“I don’t know. Vampire hunters have been disappearing, but I haven’t heard of any Vampire or Vampires who’ve suddenly gone on a killing spree. For one thing, Mara wouldn’t stand for it. So that leaves the Werewolves and the shape-shifters.” He shook his head again. “I’d rule out the shifters, so that leaves the Wolves. Maybe they want to start another war. Maybe…hell, I don’t know.”

“You never answered my question,” Savanah reminded him after a moment. “Will you stay with me?”

Savanah felt a flutter of excitement low in her belly when he gained his feet and walked toward her, his movements slow and deliberate as he closed the short distance between them. He loomed over her, tall and dark and dangerous, his eyes glinting with desire. Her body warmed to his gaze.

“What do you think?” he asked again.

There was a lot to be said for being in love with a Vampire, Savanah thought as Rane lifted her into his arms. Cradling her to his chest with one hand, he slipped his other hand under her sweater to caress her belly. It sent shivers of anticipation racing down her spine. A moment later, her sweater was gone and he was kissing her br**sts, his breath burning through her bra to warm the skin beneath as he carried her upstairs.

The bedroom was dark, the drapes drawn across the windows.

After setting her on her feet, he quickly divested Savanah of her bra, jeans, and panties; then, sitting on the edge of the bed, he drew her into the vee of his thighs.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

Reaching up, he cupped her face in his hands. Drawing her head down, he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, the pulse throbbing in her throat, careful to avoid the chain around her neck. No doubt it would burn him when they made love, but he dared not ask her to remove it. His tongue swept over her lips, parting them, then delved inside. The touch of his tongue against her own filled her with a sharp stab of desire.

When she thought she might explode with needing him, he fell back on the bed. Drawing her down on top of him, he kissed her again, long and deep. She groaned softly, certain she would expire on the spot if he didn’t make love to her.

He showered her with kisses. His hands moved over her body as if for the first time, fondling, exploring, as if he had never touched her before. He worshiped her with his gaze, with his lips, each touch of his hands stroking skin that yearned for more.

Her own hands were trembling as she pulled his T-shirt over his head. She winced when her fingertips brushed against the ugly burn on his neck. After she dropped his T-shirt on the floor, he obligingly removed his sweatpants and tossed them aside, and then stretched out beside her, his skin cool against her heated flesh.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked. “It won’t hurt you to…”

“It will hurt more not to.”

She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, careful not to touch his singed flesh, fascinated by the rock-hard muscles of his biceps. “It was a brave thing you did, coming outside when the sun was up.”

“I’d do it again, for you.” And so saying, he covered her mouth with his.

The touch of his lips on hers drove everything from her mind but the need to taste him, caress him. Tears burned her eyes when she thought of how close she had come to losing him forever.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, capturing one of her tears on the tip of his finger.

“Nothing.”

He drew back, his gaze moving over her face. “You’re crying. Why?”

“You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.” He drew her into his embrace, his hand lightly stroking her hair. Her concern touched him as nothing else could. Since leaving home, no one had worried about him or cared whether he lived or died. Closing his eyes, he kissed his way along the smooth, warm flesh below her ear, cursed inwardly as his hunger flared to life.

Jackknifing into a sitting position, he turned his back to her. What was he doing? He couldn’t hold her, make love to her, and not taste her. And he was sorely afraid a taste wouldn’t be enough. Not now, when he hurt like hell. Perhaps never.

He flinched at the touch of her hand on his shoulder.

“Rane? What is it? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “I can’t do this.” He shivered as her fingers stroked his nape. Her touch stoked his desire and his hunger. It would be so easy to take her, to sheathe himself in her softness, to bury his fangs in her tender flesh, to drink and drink…

Muttering an oath, he gained his feet and stalked toward the window. His senses told him the storm had passed. Soon, the sun would set. If he drew back the heavy drapes and leaned out the window, how long would it take for the setting sun to turn his body to a pile of smoldering ash?

He took a step forward, watched his hand move toward one of the drapes…

“Stop it!” Savanah grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the window. “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

He stared down at her, at the pulse beating rapidly in the hollow of her throat.

“Rane, please…” She laid a gentle hand against his singed cheek. “I love you. I can only imagine what you’re going through, how painful this must be…”

“You can’t imagine it! No one can. I can’t look at you without wanting you, without wanting to drink and drink until there’s nothing left! Why do you stay with me? You should be running for your life. You’re in danger, Savanah, more than you know.”

His words, the intensity of his gaze, frightened her to the depths of her being and yet she couldn’t leave him, couldn’t run, not even to save her own life. He was hurting, suffering, and it was all her fault. If she hadn’t gone outside, none of this would have happened.

She lifted the silver chain over her head, then brushed the hair from her neck and canted her head to one side.