A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark 2)

The moment was broken by the sound of some woman screaming her way to ecstasy. Emma gasped, and swung her head around to the TV. She'd been inadvertently pressing the remote and had somehow wound up on Cinemax. This late at night, Cinemax meant Skinemax.

Her face was hot with embarrassment as she frantically worked the remote, but even the regular channels seemed to delight in showing Unfaithful or Eyes Wide Shut. Finally, she landed on something without sex -

Oh, shite. An American Werewolf in Paris.

In full gory attack scene.

Before she could change it, he shot to his feet. "Is this how...is this how humans see us?" He sounded aghast.

She thought about other werewolf movies - Dog Soldiers, The Beast Within, The Howling, the oh-so-subtly-titled The Beast Must Die - and nodded. He was going to see these things sooner or later and he would learn the truth. "Yes, they do."

"Do they see all the Lore like this?"

"No, um, not really."

"Why?"

She bit her lip. "Well, I've heard the Lykae never concern themselves with PR, while the vampires and the witches, for instance, throw money at it."

"PR?"

"Public relations."

"And this PR works for them?" he asked, still watching with a sickened look on his face.

"Let's put it this way - witches are viewed as powerless Wiccans. Vampires are seen as sexy...myths."

"My God," he murmured, sinking onto the bed with a long exhalation.

His reaction was so strong, she wanted to delve. But delving meant being subject to the same. Just then, she didn't care. "So the werewolf appearance there...it was all wrong."

He rubbed his bad leg, looking weary. "Damn it, Emma, can you no' just ask me what I look like when I change?"

She tilted her head at him. His leg clearly hurt him, and she hated to see anything suffering. Apparently even crude and rude Lykae, because to take his mind from his pain, she asked, "So, Lachlain, what do you look like when you change?"

His expression was surprised, and then he seemed not to know how to answer. Finally, he said, "Have you ever seen a phantom mask a human?"

"Of course I have," she answered. She did live in the most Lore-rich city in the world.

"You know how you can still see the human, but the phantom is clear, too? That's what it's like. You still see me, but you see something stronger, wilder, with me."

She turned toward him on the bed, lay on her front, and bent her elbows to prop her chin up, ready to hear more.

When she waved him on, he leaned back against the headboard, stretching his long legs in front of him. "Ask me."

She rolled her eyes. "Very well. Do you grow fangs?" When he nodded, she said, "And fur?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Christ, no."

She had many befurred friends and took offense at his tone, but decided to let it go. "I know your eyes turn blue."

He nodded. "And my body gets bigger, while the shape of my face changes, becomes more...lupine."

She grimaced. "Snout?"

He actually chuckled at that. "No. No' like you're thinking."

"Then it doesn't sound that different from you now."

"But it is." He grew serious. "We call it saorachadh ainmhidh bho a cliabhan...letting the beast out of its cage."

"Would it scare me?"

"Even older, powerful vampires cower."

She bit her lip, contemplating all he'd said. Try as she might, she couldn't imagine him as anything other than hot.

He ran a hand over his mouth. "It's getting late. Do you no' want to drink again before dawn?"

Embarrassed by how badly she wanted to, she shrugged and studied her finger tracing the bedcover's paisley design.

"We're both thinking about it. We both want to."

She murmured, "I might, but I don't want what comes with it."

"What if I vowed no' to touch you?"

"But what if..." She trailed off, her face heating. "What if I forget...myself?" If he kissed her and stroked her as he had before, she had no doubt she'd soon be begging for him to bend her over the bed, as he'd put it.

"It would no' matter because I'd put my hands on this cover and I would no' move them."

She frowned at his hands, then nibbled her lip. "Put them behind your back."

He clearly didn't like that. "I would put my hands" - he glanced around, then spread his arms over the top of the headboard, palms down - "here, and I would no' move them. No matter what occurs."

"You promise?"

"Aye. I vow it."

She could try to convince herself that mere hunger compelled her to walk on her knees over to him. But it was so much more than that. She needed to experience the sensuality of the act, the warmth, the taste of his skin beneath her tongue, the feel of his heartbeat speeding up as though she'd pleasured him by drawing greedily.

When she knelt before him, he leaned his head away, exposing his neck, beckoning her.

Chapter 10

She saw he was already hard and grew nervous. "Hands stay put?"

"Aye."

Unable to stop herself, she eased forward, took his shirt with her fists, and sank her fangs into his skin. Rich warmth and pleasure exploded within her, and she moaned against him. She felt his groan reverberating beneath her lips. When she almost toppled over from the rush of sensation, he bit out, "Straddle...me."

Never taking her lips away, she did, gladly, better able to relax and revel in the taste and feeling. Though he never removed his hands from the headboard, he thrust his hips up against her. Then, with another groan, he seemed to make an effort to stop.