Dianne Duvall - Darkness Rises

He followed Krysta into the tiny kitchen and kept her company while she whipped up a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice.

Sean demolished that in about a minute, then rushed out the door with a last warning look at Étienne.

“I’m surprised he left,” Étienne admitted.

Krysta shrugged. “Money has been tight. School limits the number of hours he can work and vampire hunting limits the number of hours I can work. But we’re making it.” She put Sean’s dish and glass in the sink and filled it with soapy water. “You’re worried.”

He watched her with some surprise. How had she known that?

“You were worried before the phone call, but afterward . . .” She trailed off.

“We have a problem,” he admitted. Chris knew about her. Even if Richart managed to stall him, Chris and his henchmen would come looking for her. And it would be best if Étienne were by her side when they found her.

“We?”

“You and I,” he clarified.

“Let me guess. The soldiers we killed tonight have friends who are now out for our blood.”

“Yes.” He’d have to explain all of that, too. “But that’s a whole different problem.”

She frowned. “Someone else is out for our blood?”

“No. Just yours. Figuratively speaking.”

“Your vampire friends?”

“My human friends.”

Her eyebrows rose. “What?”

“Perhaps it would be best if I started from the beginning.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“I have a question I would like to ask you first.”

“Okay.” Crossing her arms, she leaned back against the counter and stared up at him. Her hair was a little mussed, finger-combed into submission rather than brushed. Her face was free of makeup, and bore a couple of faint abrasions, one on her jaw and one on her cheekbone, both on the left side of her entrancing face.

Her slender frame was garbed in a tank top and shorts that left her arms and shapely legs bare. Without her coat and assorted weaponry, she appeared so fragile. He still found it hard to reconcile this lovely, delicate mortal with the vampire hunter he had been observing for the past two weeks.

“Why didn’t you go?” he asked, needing to know.

She tilted her head. “You mean when Sean left? Why didn’t I leave with him?”

“No. At Duke. Why didn’t you run when you had the chance?”

“After you threw me behind the building?”

“Yes. I stayed and fought so you would have time to get away.”

“That’s why,” she said, her gaze never leaving his. “You could have escaped. Even tranquilized, you probably could have gotten away fast enough to elude them.”

“They would’ve killed you had I left. And the drug had already weakened me and slowed me enough that I couldn’t toss you over my shoulder and run without risking you being shot. Or tranqed. I couldn’t let either happen.”

“And I couldn’t let them kill you. Or capture you. Or whatever the hell they planned to do to you. I couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself for me.”

And that meant far more than it should have.

He eased closer to her. “Why?”

She lowered her arms and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

He cupped her face in his large hands, heard her breath catch, her heartbeat pick up its pace just as his own did. Heat rushed through him at the simple touch. “You saved my life tonight,” he whispered.

Reaching up, she curled her small, soft hands around his wrists.

Étienne held his breath, waiting for her to pull his hands away. When she didn’t . . .

“Thank you,” he said.

As she nodded, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Fire licked its way through Krysta’s veins at the soft contact. Étienne caressed her cheeks as his silky smooth, surprisingly warm lips brushed hers.

What am I doing?

His tongue stroked her lips, tempting her into parting them.

What the hell am I doing? she repeated just before he deepened the kiss and she stopped thinking.

Her heart pounded in her chest, thudding against her ribs so determinedly she thought Étienne must feel it.

If he didn’t before, he did then as he moved forward, crowding her against the counter and pressing his large, muscular body into hers.

It felt so good. He felt so good. Tasted good. He even smelled good. Familiar. Bathed as he had been in the soap she used every day, the citrus aroma blending exquisitely with his own masculine scent.

As Étienne leaned into her, every muscle tightened, pleasure dancing through her everywhere they touched.

He slid his arms around her. Heat simmered inside her, preventing Krysta from pulling away. Her breasts pressed against his hard, muscled chest. His rippling abs melded to hers. Her hips settled against his arousal.

I have to stop, the voice of reason intruded. He’s a vampire.

His arms tightened as he continued to tease and tempt her with his tongue.

I don’t sleep with vampires. I hunt them. I destroy them. I loathe them. Damn , he can kiss. I want to tear his freaking clothes off.

Krysta almost moaned a protest when Étienne drew back. Peeling heavy lids open, she stared up at him and caught her breath.

His eyes glowed a brilliant amber. Sharp fangs peeked from between parted lips. And both totally turned her on because he looked like he wanted to devour every inch of her.

Damn.

A growl rumbled forth from deep in his throat as he lowered his head and stole another brief, hard kiss.

Oh, yeah.

Then he ruined it ( and did her a favor, she would later grudgingly admit) by again withdrawing and taking three determined steps backward.

Her heart continued to pound. She noted with some chagrin that she was practically panting. And her body tingled everywhere .

That would bother her a lot more if she hadn’t noticed the large bulge straining against the front of his pants that told her more than words that he had been as affected as she had.

He cleared his throat. “I’m not a vampire.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m not a vampire.”

“Said the man with the glowing eyes and glinting fangs. Not to mention the super speed and strength.”

“Vampires are not the only preternatural beings who boast such characteristics.”

Oh, shit. There were other preternatural creatures out there?

He shook his head and motioned to the futon. “Will you sit with me so I might explain?”

Krysta nodded, a bit dazed, and followed him over to the futon.

They sat simultaneously and turned toward each other, knees touching.

She liked that their knees touched. Liked the casual contact as much as she had liked the kiss. And wondered where exactly along the way she had lost her damned mind.

Vampire. Vampire hunter. Remember? she mentally chided herself.

“I’m not vampire,” he repeated, stretching an arm along the back of the futon. “I’m immortal.”

Krysta stared at him. Weren’t all vampires mostly immortal? Unless slain, that is? They didn’t age or get sick, after all, and could withstand a lot of damage that would kill humans. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that vampires are human before their transformation. I and my immortal colleagues, on the other hand, were like you.”

Her heart, already misbehaving from their recent make-out session, began to beat a little faster. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m human.”

“No, you aren’t. Or rather I assume you aren’t because your brother isn’t. Is he your full brother or your half brother?”

“My full brother. And he’s human. We both are.”