His irritation was only slightly improved when he noticed he was being sized up again. This time it was two pretty females who looked like they'd come in from the suburbs for a good time. College girls, he was guessing, based on the fresh faces, perky twenty-something bods, and torn, faux-vintage designer jeans. They were giggling and trying to act unimpressed as they approached the car on their way into the club.
"So, where are we, D? You on your way back to base now?"
"No," he said, voice low as he cut the engine and let his gaze trail the women as they passed. "Night's still young. I think I'll stop off for a quick bite first. Maybe two."
Sterling Chase prowled his Darkhaven residence like a caged animal, edgy and anxious. Although the night hadn't exactly been a success by any measure, he had to admit a certain exhilaration his first time out on his mission. He didn't care much for the arrogant, antagonistic warrior he'd been partnered with, but he reminded himself that his purpose in seeking the Order's help far outweighed any of the bullshit he would likely be subjected to by Dante or his brethren these next few weeks.
He'd been home for a couple of hours now. A couple more and it would be daybreak, not that he would feel much like sleeping.
At the moment, he felt like talking to someone.
Of course, the first to come to mind was Elise. But at this hour she would be retired to her quarters, preparing for bed. It didn't take much for him to picture her seated at her delicate little vanity, probably nude beneath yards of gauzy white silk and brushing out her long blond hair. Her lavender eyes were likely closed as she hummed absently to herself --a habit she'd had since he'd first met her, and one that only endeared her to him all the more.
She was fragile and sweet, a widow going on five years now. Elise would never pair with another; in his heart of hearts, he knew that. And part of him was glad for her refusal to love again--the right of every Breedmate who lost her beloved--because while it meant he would live in the misery of wanting her, he would not have to accept the even more crushing blow of seeing her bonded to another male.
But without a male of the Breed to nourish her with the time-altering gift of his blood, Elise, born human like every other Breedmate, would one day grow old and die. This was the thing that saddened him the most. He might never truly have her, but it was a certainty that one day, probably no more than a scant sixty or seventy years from now--a blink of time, to those of his kind--he would lose her completely.
Perhaps it was that idea that made him want so badly to spare her every hurt that he could.
He loved her now, as always.
It shamed him, how much she affected him. Just thinking of her, his skin felt tight and too warm. She made him burn inside, and she could never know the truth of that. She would despise him for it, he was sure.
But that didn't stop the clawing itch to be near her.
To be naked with her, even just once.
Chase stopped his pacing and dropped down onto the large sofa in his den. He sat back, thighs spread, head back on his shoulders, staring up at the tall white ceiling some ten feet above him.
She was there, in that bedroom over this very space.
If he breathed deeply enough, he could catch the faint rose and heather scent of her. Chase sucked in a long draft of air. Hunger coiled in him, stretching his fangs from his gums. He licked his lips, almost able to imagine the taste of her.
Sweet torture, that.
He imagined her padding barefoot across the carpeted floor of her room, unlacing the ties of her flimsy nightgown. Letting the silk fall near the bed as she climbed onto cool sheets and lay there, uncovered, uninhibited, her nipples like rosebuds against the paleness of her skin.
Chase's throat was desert dry. His pulse kicked into a hard drum, blood flowing hot through his veins. His cock was stiff within the confinement of his black jeans. He reached for the ache of his sex, palming his erection over the thick fabric and straining buttoned fly. Stroking himself the way Elise never would.
He rubbed more urgently, but it only made the need worse.
He would never stop wanting...
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, disgusted with himself for his weakness.
He yanked his hand away and got up with a hiss of anger, denying himself even so much as the fantasy of bedding his perfect, unattainable Elise.
Heat licked along the length of Dante's bare legs. It climbed higher, over his hips and torso, snaking up his spine and around his shoulders. Relentless, consuming, the heat pressed deeper, like an unstoppable wave crashing over him in slow-motion torment. It burned ever stronger, growing ever hotter, all but engulfing him.
He couldn't move, no longer in control of his limbs or even his own thoughts.
All he knew was the fire.
And the fact that it was killing him.
Flames were twisting all around him now, smoke churning black, searing his eyes and scorching his throat with every futile, gasping breath he tried to take.
No use.