Unknown - Scorched

Mac was holding one of her hands in his. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her free hand. “So what should we do?” she asked. “Where do we start?”

The muscles in his jaw bunched, as if he were grinding his teeth. “You tell me everything again. Every detail.”

Bitter disappointment caked her tongue. She pulled her hand away from his. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to do something. They’ve got my boy.”

There was sympathy in the strong, square lines of his face. If it was sympathy for anyone else, it would have melted her heart. Because it was for her, she felt exposed.

He took her hand again, engulfing it in his own. “Slow down. No one thinks clearly when they’re upset.”

Upset? How could he describe the grief and fear she was feeling as upset? She nearly slapped him. “There’s no time to slow down!”

She knew that sounded childish, but his patient expression didn’t flicker.

“Stealth will count more than strength,” he said gently. “Stealth takes planning. Do you know where the guardsmen keep their prisoners?”

“I was following Bran when you interrupted and beat him to a pulp.”

He showed an instant of surprise, then chagrin that slid into humor. “Ah. My bad.” His momentary smile showed slightly crooked teeth.

“Indeed.” Constance pulled her hand from his and stood. She was too nervous to sit any more.

He stood, folding his arms. He was wearing a soft sweater the color of mulberries. It brought out the darker undertones in his skin. Next to him, her skin was as pale as bone.

These were details she shouldn’t have noticed. There wasn’t time except—oh, he smelled deliciously human. That had fooled her the first time they’d met. The demon scent was there, but right then the human overpowered it.

She could feel his heat like a lamp, drawing her in as if it could ease the furious pain of loss. She wanted him to hold her. No one ever held her. She remembered his salty skin, that delicious musk of man. Those thoughts had flitted past, dark butterflies of desire, when she got the idea to come to this room, where there was no spell to keep passion buried.

And the urgency of passion was exactly what she needed. Whether Mac was half demon or not, Constance was willing to gamble that his blood was still human enough to Turn her. She had led him to believe he was safe, but she hadn’t given up on the idea of taking his blood. The room, with all its sensuality, was her trap.

People believed she was so innocent, but up until now Constance had chosen to stay that way. That didn’t mean she was oblivious to the ways of deceit. She’d just never thought anything worth the sacrifice of her morals. Not until she’d lost her son.

Now she was faced with a choice of evils. Surely taking her first drink of human blood inside the Castle—even in the permissive confines of the Summer Room—meant that she could avoid turning into a ravening beast. Didn’t it? Wouldn’t that excuse deceiving Mac?

He had been wary earlier, but no man was all that careful in the throes of lovemaking. At least, that’s what other girls had said. Her own experience was woefully sparse. She had to play her hand with great care.

But was it right to bite him now, after he’d just saved her? Been so kind? Promised his aid? A sense of fair play shouldn’t hamper her, but it did. She was terrible at this biting business. Just get on with it, for heaven’s sake!

Mac was looking at her curiously, as if he’d caught her daydreaming. Constance realized she couldn’t remember what she’d been saying.

He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, an intimate familiarity. His skin felt rough and warm. “Our first task is reconnaissance. We can’t make any other choices until we know what we’re dealing with.”

He looked down, his pupils reflecting the image of her face. Constance felt a chill of need and dread course over her limbs.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Kidnapping is exactly the kind of thing I was trained to handle. This is going to be a bit different with, y’know, the monster factor, but I’m seeing the possibilities here.”

He gave a dry smile. “It’ll be fun. Really.”

Swept along by his magnetic warmth, Constance put one hand on each of Mac’s shoulders. Almost automati-cally, his hands grasped her waist. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Attraction? Certainly. Hunger? Yes, but many kinds. Drumming like thunder inside her veins, those hungers called to places deep in her belly.

Mac’s nostrils flared, his dark eyes growing darker. He was feeling it, too. She pushed against him, her body aching, itching to be free of the laces of her garments. They confined and teased, pressing against the soft flesh of her aching breasts. The throbbing beneath her teeth made her part her lips, easing the burning sensation that only feeding would cure.

Mac seemed to hesitate, teetering on some knife-edge of decision. She watched him fall, the surrender in his eyes and in the sudden quickening of his breath. He was aroused, hers for the taking. On shaking breath, Constance murmured a prayer to whatever saint guided untried lovers and beginning vampires.

Mac caressed her, a low growl rumbling through his chest and into her bones. His lips crushed hers, pricking against her fangs, a burst of blood radiating across her tongue. Constance stood on her toes, leaning into the hard, bruising grasp, lapping at the strange, demon-spiced blood. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, and it only sharpened her need.

Strong hands ran up her body, making her twitch as they pressed against a sore place left from Atreus’s pun-ishment. The scent of him was exotic, drawing her face to his skin. His hands were on her bodice, peeling away the thin scarf she wore. He bent, his lips, his tongue finding the arch of her collarbone and following the valley between her breasts. His breath was hot, electrifying, sizzling against the wet trails his tongue had left.

Mac’s dark, wavy hair brushed against her cheek, the springy texture of it begging to be touched. Her fingers fell against his neck, feeling the pulse that called to her through her belly, her nipples, through the painful clenching of her sex. Her knees quivered with it. She could feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against her flesh.

Take him. Take him now.

But her senses were swimming. Her body wouldn’t obey, only react.

With a groan, he lifted his head. The irises of his eyes glittered with a scarlet fire. There was nothing there but pure, primitive possession. His scent was changing, the human smell fading as they stood there.

No. Oh, no.

What have I done? I’ve called forth his demon.

She’d missed her chance to feed, but here was something else. Fear and desire was a potent combination. Savage delight rose in her, ready to fight. Ready to grapple, however he chose to do it. This was even more exciting.

Demon or not, she still wanted him. Maybe she wanted him even more. She couldn’t really hurt a demon. They couldn’t be accidentally Turned. There would be no guilt.

Mac—or the thing that had been Mac—held her by the upper arms, his grip beyond even vampire-strong. He put his lips to her ear. “If I take you, I’ll hurt you.”

He pushed her away, leaving every nerve in her body shrieking with rage.

“No!” she said, grabbing the front of his sweater to reel him back in.

“I’m not human anymore,” he said, the mirror of her own emotions in his face. “I won’t play by the rules. I won’t be any good to eat, sweetheart.”

“I know that. I don’t care.” There were more needs than food. She pushed forward, her lips finding the hollow of his throat, salty-sweet with the taste of him. He was hot to the touch, almost burning. For the first time since she had been bitten, she felt truly warm.