Eternal Hunger

31

Sara stared, completely disinterested, at the beautiful plate of roasted mussels in a tomato and basil broth.

“Are you going to eat that?”

She glanced up, smiled into the curious, ravenous eyes of her boss, Dr. Pete Albert. “No.”

“May I?”

“Of course.” She inched the plate toward him. She loved the East Village, and Lavagna had been a wet dream on her culinary brain for more than a year. Now she couldn’t conjure up an appetite no matter how hard she tried. She refused to use her emotional state as an excuse, so work-related frustration would have to do. Good thing she had plenty of that. She sat back in her chair, focused on her boss over the easy candlelight.

“Listen, Pete,” she began as he poured her plate of mussels over his rigatoni with sweet fennel. “I need to know what I can get away with legally in the McClean case. I want to go to the house, talk to Mommy.”

He shook his head as though he’d heard it all before. “I think you should leave it alone. Let the police and social services handle it.”

“You mean wait six months?” she said dryly.

He paused, his fork in the air. “I admire your commitment to your patients, you know that.”

“Thank you.”

His eyes warmed. “I admire many things about you.”

“I appreciate that—”

“But,” he jumped in, “breaking rules and breaking laws is one helluva career-ending move.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know any other way. Things don’t get done; problems don’t get solved—people remain broken unless you’re willing to go out on a limb ...”

“Are we still talking about Pearl?”

The cozy one-room restaurant seemed to go silent, as if all the guests were leaning toward Sara and Pete’s table, listening to their conversation, waiting for Sara’s response. Total imaginary bullshit, but it felt that way for a moment.

Pete continued eating. “Just because Gray hasn’t responded to the treatment yet—”

“I can’t even get to the treatment,” she interrupted. “I’m still working on the hypnosis.”

“—Doesn’t mean he won’t respond.”

Above her, the tin ceiling felt as though it were closing in. She understood that perseverance was the only way to get results. Odds were good that at some point Gray would give in and go under, and then changing the image in his memory would be cake. It was just that her morale was slipping, and she couldn’t seem to stop it.

“Let’s get back to talking about Pearl, okay?” she said.

He reached across the table and touched her hand. “Sure.”

“I don’t think her mom has any clue what’s going on with her daughter. That boyfriend of hers ...” Sara wasn’t sure what happened first, if Pete jerked his hand away or she did, but the next thing she knew, her boss looked white as a sheet and was grabbing his stomach with both hands and moaning.

She leaned forward, concerned. “Pete? What is it?”

His face contorted with pain. “I . . . I ...” He shook his head. “Oh God!”

“Are you all right?”

“I have to go to the restroom.” His chair scraped back and he got up, heading for the back of the restaurant. Sara stared after him, then dropped her gaze to the mussels. Oh jeez. And she’d invited him—

The sudden quiet in the room—real, not imaginary this time—clipped her thoughts short and she looked up, hoping not to see Pete laid out on the mahogany floor, convulsing. But the silence had nothing to do with her boss. Walking through the restaurant, looking like six feet three inches of branded, terrifying sex appeal was Alexander. The other patrons seemed to either shrink in his presence or, and this was mostly the female clientele, stare covetously while their dates slumped in their chairs unable to compete with the godforce walking past. Even the staff stopped what they were doing and had the good sense to look nervous.

He sat down in Pete’s chair and glared at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Having dinner with a colleague.” His scent seized her nostrils, made her stomach growl for the first time in twenty-four hours.

He lowered his voice. “Trainer is still out there and bloodthirsty.”

“And Dillon’s right over there.”

He snorted, as though the veana he’d recruited to protect her had zero skills to actually do the job.

Sara leaned forward and whispered, “You need to leave. My boss will be right back.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Her eyes widened. “What did you do?”

He shrugged. “Stomach issues.”

“You gave him a stomachache?” she said, furious at his cavalier attitude.

“I suggested it.”

“Unbelievable! Why the hell would you do something like that?”

Barely controlled possessiveness rolled off of him. “I don’t want him around you. I don’t want any male around you.”

“Tough shit,” she said, keeping her voice barely above a whisper.

A growl rumbled in the back of Alexander’s throat as his eyes lowered. “Your mouth is exquisitely delectable when you curse at me.”

A searing wave of desire moved through Sara and in her mind she saw flashes of his hands on her skin, raking up the insides of her legs . . . Goddammit! Why did he have to come here? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone, let her get over him, forget he existed? She glared at him, asked with barely restrained calm, “How’s Bronwyn this evening?”

His gaze caught hers and held. There was great care in their depths. “I wouldn’t know. Lucian is responsible for that particular guest.”

So he hadn’t fed from her? Is that what he was saying? Or he had and he was done, like fast food? She didn’t want to ask, couldn’t bear the answer if it was the wrong one.

He was watching her, his eyes heavy lidded and filled with ire. “The man in the bathroom wants to fuck you. Did you know that?”

Yes, she knew. “What do you want, Alexander?”

“I want you to come home.”

“That’s not my home.” She shook her head, as much to herself as to him. She had no home, wouldn’t until Gray recovered. What Alexander offered her was another place for failure and pain.

“I want you in my bed,” he persisted.

“I don’t belong in your bed.” Where she was good enough to screw, but not feed from . . .

“Why are you out with this man?” Alexander demanded, his voice remaining low and controlled, though his face contorted with rage.

She knew people were staring at them. “It’s none of your business,” she told him.

“I won’t have it.”

“Do you hear yourself? You sound like a caveman.” She glanced over his massive shoulder to where the bathrooms were. “You need to go.”

His face changed and his eyes softened. “I need you,” he said gently.

“What you need is something I can’t give you.”

“Not true.” His eyes blazed with heat, with something close to anticipation. “I wish to make you an offer.”

She shook her head, her heart utterly deflated, her body and mind growing weary of the fight. “What does that mean?”

“You return home, and I will help your brother.”

She froze. “What did you say?”

“His memory of the fire, the pain, all of it, I will remove it from his mind.”

Sara shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“I wish you had told me earlier. I wish I had asked.” He nodded, reached for her hand. “I’m sorry for that. But I can help you now. I can remove the memory and the pain from his mind.”

She kept shaking her head. The madness he was spouting was almost intolerable, cruel to say the very least. All these years, all the work, and she had barely made a dent in Gray’s memory. As if it were so easy . . .

“Sara—”

“I don’t believe you.” She pulled her hand away, ignoring the feeling of immediate and painful loss. “Why would you say something like that? Suggest something like that? When you know how it would hurt me.”

“Sara, it is the truth.”

“It’s not possible.”

“It is,” he insisted. “It is part of my abilities as a morphed Pureblood. I am able to remove memory through the blood.”

The explanation stopped her, made her stare at him. The thread of hope she’d carried with her these past ten years suddenly trembled inside her tired body.

“There are risks to his memory as a whole,” he continued, seeing the change in her expression. “But they’re very low. I have every confidence he would—”

She stopped him with a fierce glare. “No.” She had to think, had to process what he was telling her with what she knew to be real. The threads of hope pulsed within her, wanting to kill the fear and confusion that accompanied it. “Please, Alexander, I need you to go.”

“Sara, you are a practical woman. Please do not react to this suggestion emotionally or irrationally.”

Her eyes filled with tears. It was too much. Didn’t he get that? Didn’t he get the hugeness of what he’d just offered her?

She spotted Pete coming back from the bathroom, looking pale, but alive.

“The man returns.” Alexander said the words like a snake hissing.

Sara locked eyes with him, her tone pleading. “If you care anything for me, you’ll go now.”

He looked ready to argue, but didn’t. Instead, he nodded. “Think on my offer, Sara.”

Pete drew closer. Sara uttered, “Please. Go.”

Alexander leaned down, whispered in her ear, “If he touches you,” he said, lapping at the sensitive skin of her lobe, “I swear I will hunt him down and rip out his heart.”

As every ounce of blood in her veins went hot and electric and traveled south of her navel, Sara forced her gaze away from Alexander and onto the pale shell of a boss who was walking dispiritedly toward her.

Two hours later, Sara lay on her bed at the hotel room, sheets stripped, lights off, waiting for the inevitable to occur. He would come, and when he did he would once again claim he could fix her brother.

Traumatic memory gone. All visions of the fire and the terror and the pain of his burns.

Gone.

She rolled onto her stomach. Of course, she’d been trying to do that for more than four years now with very little success, and yet the amazing, all-powerful, morphed vampire could make it happen in an instant.

It had to be bullshit. Right?

She flipped to her back again, stared up at the ceiling, at the shadows the adjacent buildings made. What if he could do it? Really take the memory from Gray’s mind? The thing was, Alexander himself was an impossibility, a miracle . . .

She turned in to her pillow and closed her eyes for a moment. What if?

She must’ve dozed off on the thought because when she woke up the shadows on the ceiling had changed. Now, instead of floating rooflines, the outline of a man stretched out above her. She sat up, turned toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Alexander stood on the balcony, twenty stories from the ground, his black wool coat turned up at the collar, the tails striking his thighs in the wind. Her heart leaped into her throat at the size of him, at the brutality of his face, at the raw desire in his eyes.

She scurried off the bed and went to the window. But instead of letting him in, she went out to meet him. The frigid wind whipped at her face and her hair the second she stepped onto the concrete.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he said, his eyes taking in every feature on her face. “But I had to see you.”

She stood a good three feet from him and hugged her arms to her chest. “I know why you’re here, and I’ve thought about your offer.” She shook her head. “I just can’t do it, Alexander.”

He took a step toward her. “You’re freezing. Let’s go inside.”

She shook her head, backed up, put her hand out to block him because if he touched her it was all over. “I want you to understand. I can’t take the risk.”

His dark brows came together. “Which risk are you speaking of? The one to Gray’s mind?”

“Yes.”

“Sara,” he said gently. “I told you—”

“You told me there was a small chance of permanent damage to his memory.”

“Infinitesimal. Far less than anything you’re doing to him now.” Alexander studied her. “Is it truly your brother you’re worried about?”

“Of course,” she said far more passionately than she intended.

His pupils dilated as he watched her, his nostrils flared as he took in her scent. I DON’T BELIEVE YOU.

She pointed at him. “Don’t do that!”

He shrugged. “I fear you’re lying to me, and to yourself.”

“That’s ridiculous. I just don’t want to do things your way, come back to your house and live with you.” Her whole body was shaking now. From cold, and from concern that perhaps Alexander saw her mind and heart better than she ever could. “Go home.”

His eyes locked with hers. “I am home. Wherever you are ...”

The words cut deep into the near-broken heart in her chest. They were lovely words, yet so cruel because they could never be true. Why wouldn’t he stop tormenting her?

She turned around and went back into her room.

Alexander followed. “Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom.”

“To escape this conversation?”

“Fuck you.”

“You are acting like a balas, Sara,” he said as she shut the door.

She crumpled into a ball on the other side of the wood, hoping he would just go away and leave her alone tonight. Just tonight. Tomorrow she would be herself again: strong, quick, able to take on moody patients, irresponsible parents, and, yes, irresistible vampires with self-serving agendas.

But he didn’t. He stood outside the door. “Sara?”

She said nothing.

“What is it really?” he pressed, his tone gentle now as if he really wanted to know, wanted to help her know. “Are you afraid your life’s work will have no value? Is it that you will have no identity, no purpose if he’s cured?”

Her heart started to race and she scrambled over to the tub and turned on the shower.

“Is it that you can’t face him?” he said louder. “Face what you did if he truly gets well?”

“Shut up!” she roared, a sick strain of panic racing through her blood now. Fully clothed, she climbed into the shower and sat under the spray, desperate to drown out not just his not-so-bullshit analysis of her, but the questions they were bringing up in her mind. It was supposed to have been her. She was supposed to have fixed Gray, cured him, and brought him home to their mother. If she wasn’t the one to do it, what did that make her but a huge time-wasting failure? If she wasn’t the one who fixed him, how would she ever gain forgiveness for breaking him in the first place?

She heard the lock click open, the door creak back, and Alexander walk into the bathroom. The shower curtain ripped back, and he looked down at her, his body suddenly engulfed in steam.

“Jesus.” He stripped bare, then climbed in, knelt down in front of her. “Let me help him. Let me help you.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “You don’t want to help me—you want me to come back. It’s all that matters to you.”

Alexander cupped her face as water sluiced down her back. “Yes, that is what I want, what I must have. God help me, the need to have you near—the need to see you safe is excruciating and undeniable. But does it matter? The motivation?”

Tears, like droplets of blood, fell from her eyes and her words came out choked and pained. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

Her head dropped forward. “If I let you do this, I’m a failure. Don’t you see? You’ve brought him back. That wasn’t the deal . . . I broke him, I fix him.”

“Look at me,” he demanded. “Look at me, woman.”

Again, her eyes lifted to his impassioned gaze.

“You are no failure. You are this.” He touched her chest, her heart. “You beat with life and with love. You are brilliant, extraordinary, amazing, my captor and my friend. And make no mistake, you have kept Gray alive, as you kept me alive that morning on your door-step.” His voice dropped. “You need to stop punishing yourself.”

Sara’s lips trembled and she blinked, tears falling to her cheeks.

He shook his head. “I love you, Sara.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What did you say?”

He ran his hands over her face, gently placed her wet hair behind her ears and leaned in, kissed first her top lip, then her bottom. “What I have never said to anyone, have never felt for anyone but my brothers. I love you, and as impossible is it may be, you belong to me as I belong to you.”

His mouth covered hers completely and for one brief moment Sara thought about resisting him, resisting her feelings, her need to touch and be touched by this paven who claimed to love her. But the moment died a quick death and Sara leaned in to the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck, her tongue slipping between his parted lips, telling him yes, yes—she was his and they belonged together, connected, fused.

Alexander groaned, and his hand went around her waist, his fingers gripping her wet clothes as overhead the shower rained down on them both. He made love to her mouth, his tongue stroking hers, his teeth nipping at her lips hungrily. He loved her. Even under the hot water and the sweet assault of his mouth, she shivered with the memory. Not a day would go by that she didn’t hear him say those words, not a night when she didn’t remember his eyes, tender and true, as he confessed what she already knew; there was an unbreakable, remarkable bond between them that was only broken by a hunger for blood.

Alexander pulled his mouth from hers and stood up, his eyes heavy-lidded and lust-filled as he lifted her out of the tub and placed her on the white bath-mat. With deft hands, he peeled the clothes from her body until she stood before him wet and naked, her expression filled with longing. She needed him inside her body, his weight on her, his eyes locked to hers as he moved in and out.

“You’re cold?” he asked, concerned.

She smiled softly, sadly up at him. “No. But I am lonely, empty.”

He gathered her up in his arms, gave her a kiss on the tip of her nose, then carried her out of the bathroom. The bedspread was pulled back and Alexander placed her down on the soft white sheets. For a moment, he stood there, looking down at her, his eyes fierce with longing, his cock standing up proud. Behind him, the glass door remained open and the November wind sent achingly soft snow into the room.

But Sara felt nothing but heat and need, and she reached for him. “Please, Alexander.”

“Yes, love.” He leaned down, his hands splayed on her ankles, up he raked to her knees, her inner thighs until he had her legs spread so wide her cunt wept for him. “You in me and me in you. For hours, forever.” He entered her with one hard thrust and stayed there, the head of his cock kissing her womb.

Closing her eyes to the delicious feeling of being impaled, marked, Sara moaned, “Oh God, yes. Stay there, right there.”

“Always,” he whispered against her mouth, pressing deeper inside of her. “Look at me, Sara.” His eyes blazed down into hers. “Your cunt is so hot, so wet, like a sweet fist, tempting me to move.”

His words made her skin tremble, and she squeezed the muscles around his erection until he groaned. “The perfect fit,” he uttered, tucking a hand under her ass and pressing her even closer, his cock thrusting impossibly deeper. Breathless, completely filled by him, Sara wrapped her legs around his waist and again squeezed the muscles that surrounded him.

Alexander grinned down at her, growled sensually, “Keep doing that and I’ll come.”

She smiled back. “Promise?”

He leaned down and nibbled at her lower lip. “Yes, and again I will be struck by my hunger for you.” He started to move then, slowly at first as he kissed her softly, tenderly.

As he pumped inside of her, Sara let her hands explore him—his legs, his buttocks, so taut with muscle. Then up to his lean waist and rock-solid back, the skin straining to contain the sinew and bone—then over his shoulders, so terrifyingly massive, and his neck, his face. With gentle fingers, she traced the brands on his cheeks, then lifted her head and lapped at one with her tongue.

Oh God, the taste of him. Honey and passion fruit . . .

Alexander hissed and she felt his body go rigid, felt his cock grow even harder, stretching her. Grinning, she turned her head and traced the brand on his other cheek with her tongue.

How did he taste so sweet? She could get drunk off his skin, his . . . blood . . . She let her teeth graze over the rough brand—

“Fuck!” Alexander howled, pulling out of her, the sound of suction lost echoing in the room. “Your lips are dangerous, both pairs ...” He grabbed her knees and pressed her legs all the way to her shoulders, spreading her so wide he had perfect access to every wet inch of her. He was inside of her in an instant, sinking back into the hot glove of her body and thrusting away. “Yes, dangerous, delicious ...” Panting, keeping his eyes locked on hers, he slammed into her over and over. MINE.

Sara’s breaths were coming in gasps, every inch of her screaming for him, tightening for him, wanting him to feed from her even if it cost her her life. She was a fool, drugged and desire-filled. She reached between them and palmed her breasts, tugging at her nipples until they beaded hard and dark.

Alexander’s gaze slipped and he groaned at what he saw. “I’m sorry, Sara. Can’t go slow. Too sweet, too hot, tight ...”

“No,” she uttered as she pumped her hips, keeping his frantic pace. “Fast. Hard. Please.”

Alexander covered her mouth, thrust his tongue inside just as he thrust his cock deeper inside her body. Her breath caught in her throat, heat coiled within her, and her veins pulsed with the blood in her heart. She couldn’t stop the building passion inside her and she didn’t want to. Jutting her hips up, squeezing her cunt, she cried out, crashed, went over the edge. It was too beautiful, the sensations running through her, so frantic and sweet, and she refused to release it until he came inside her.

Her mouth moved from his and found the brand on his left cheek. She growled low and nipped at the rigid flesh with her teeth. Alexander cursed, bucked wildly. Sara suckled the brand into her mouth, played the damaged skin like a nipple with her tongue.

Fingers digging into the skin of her shoulders, Alexander slammed his cock so deep within her body Sara felt him in her belly. Hot seed spilled into her cunt, and Sara squeezed the muscles that surrounded him, wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close, reveling in the spasms and jerks of his climax.

He loved her.

She smiled, reveled in the feel of his weight atop her. She nuzzled her head into the curve of his neck, her eyes open and unfocused. His shoulder spread out before her, looking massive and edible. She licked her lips, watching as his skin seemed to pulse. In her muddled brain she heard herself say that it was the same spot that had opened and closed so many times before—the spot she’d tasted, and beneath it, the blood that could change her . . .

Something snapped, her mind, her hunger . . . and she couldn’t help herself. She lowered her head and bit down hard on his shoulder.

Alexander reared back, his cock coming free of her. “Sara!”

Oh God. She looked from his eyes to his shoulder. Shock and fear blasted through her. She tasted blood on her tongue. What have I done? She covered her mouth with her hand. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Shit. No.” Eyes wide, Alexander sat back on his heels.

“I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry.”

He turned and checked his shoulder. “You broke the skin.”

“Alexander . . .”

When he turned back to look at her, his eyes were black-red. “Do you taste me?”

Scared, she shook her head, lying to him without using the words. She knew what he thought would happen to her if she ingested his blood—even one drop. And maybe he was right, maybe it had happened already.

Alexander looked angry, shocked, and Sara stammered through another apology. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand why I would do that. I don’t understand anything right now. I’m so sorry.” But even in her fear and confusion she realized she wasn’t sorry. Not even a little. As she stared up at him, she wanted to continue what she’d started, taste what glistened on his shoulder now, bright and red and succulent as a peach.

Her heart plummeted to her stomach. What the hell was happening to her? The hunger, not for food, but for him . . . Oh God, what had she done? And what would happen to her next?

“Sara, you could become Imiti. Fuck! You must swear to me—” He froze, his attention drawn to something above her head, on the wall.

Sara sat up and turned to look. At first she thought she was dizzy, but then she realized that the plaster was moving, shifting like the pages of a book. Instinctively, Alexander moved in front of her as words formed on the wall.

“What’s happening?” she asked. “What is this?”

Alexander stared at the message.

THE IMPURE LIVES IN THE NIGHT. THE SECOND ROMAN BROTHER DIES IN THE SUN. COME TO THE HOLLOW.

“I have finally been summoned.”