Edge of Dawn (Midnight Breed) Page 11

  He looked at her for a long moment, then exhaled a curse, shook his head.

  “We can do it together, Kellan.” Mira searched his blazing eyes, determined to convince him. “We’ll go tonight, as soon as the sun sets. We’ll fix it, Kellan.”

  His answering scoff was brittle as he flinched away from her touch. “I can no more do that now than I could before I realized Ackmeyer was innocent.”

  “Yes, you can. This changes everything—”

  Kellan’s eyes blazed even brighter. “It changes nothing. I’m still guilty of kidnapping and conspiracy. The GNC won’t care what my reasons were for taking a human civilian hostage. Do you really think the Order will, especially when they learn where I’ve been all these years, what I’ve been doing?”

  “Then we’ll make them understand,” Mira said, not even sure herself how they might accomplish that, but damn it, she was determined to try. All she needed was Kellan to agree. “We’ll go to Lucan together and explain everything. There has to be a way. Once they see Jeremy Ackmeyer is free and unharmed, they’ll be willing to listen, Kellan.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, considering, she hoped. But the look on his face was hard, unyieldingly so. “You’re right about one thing, Mira. I have to release him. I’ll release both of you. But not until my crew has a chance to dismantle our base and find shelter somewhere else. I need to know they’ll be safe too, after all of this is over.”

  He stepped away from her, about to turn around and leave. Mira took hold of his arm. “What about you? Where does all of this leave you?”

  She didn’t like the flinty look in his glowing eyes. “Don’t worry about me. This time I’ll do what I couldn’t before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He touched her face, so gently it threatened to break her heart all over again. “I’ll put as much distance as possible between us. This time, I promise, I’ll make sure our paths can never cross again.”

  The vow struck her like a physical blow. Now she was the one seething with fury—instant, blood-boiling fury. “You selfish son of a bitch! Don’t you dare pretend you’re doing this for me.”

  “It’s the truth,” he stated flatly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mouse. I never wanted that.”

  Unable to contain the hurt and anger that was raging in her, Mira slapped him, hard across the face. “I want nothing more than to hurt you now,” she seethed. She pounded her fists against his strong, naked chest, wishing she had a blade in her grasp. “I want you to hurt like this too, damn you. I would make you bleed if I could!”

  Kellan calmly caught her punishing hands, tucking them into a tender hold between their bodies. If he had grabbed her with force, she would have railed against him with all she was worth. She wanted that excuse. She wanted to curse and strike and hate him for this moment and all the others that had brought her so much heartache because of him.

  But Kellan’s touch was gentle. His face was sober, eyes full of heat and regret as he bent his head down and kissed the white knuckles on both of her clenched fists.

  Mira’s body heaved with impotent fury. She wanted to scream at him, but all that slipped past her lips was a choked little moan. She couldn’t move, could hardly pull air into her raw lungs, as Kellan’s gaze bored into hers. His grasp loosened, and he reached out to smooth his fingers along the side of her face, tracing past the tiny teardrop-and-crescent-moon birthmark that rode at her left temple.

  His breath left him on a whispered curse as he put his mouth to her forehead and pressed a kiss there, his trim beard gently abrading her brow. Another kiss to her Breedmate mark . . . then still another, this one landing softly, sweetly on her parted lips.

  She wanted to tell him no, but everything female within her responded to his kiss with melting, undeniable welcome. His lips brushed over hers, warm and wet, making her thirst for something more. She darted her tongue out to meet his and felt his strong body go tense against her. He broke away only for a moment, just looking at her, his breath hot against her cheek with his growled curse.

  His big hands trembled as he brought them up to cradle her face in his palms. So gentle. So heartbreakingly reverent. His thumb caressed the line of her jaw, then drifted down along the side of her neck, pausing over the pulse point that throbbed like a drumbeat with every careful stroke of his touch. Wordlessly, he bent forward and kissed her again.

  She couldn’t stop him from claiming her mouth, any more than she could stop the wild jolt of pleasure that traveled through her like liquid fire. Kellan seemed equally moved, equally helpless to keep from touching her, kissing her, desiring her as much as she craved him. His skin felt hot to her touch, his dermaglyphs pulsing in reaction to his body’s needs. His arousal was swift and obvious, a ridge of unyielding granite pressing with demand against her abdomen. She reveled in the feel of him, so hard and wanting, so powerfully alive.

  No matter what he said, he wanted her. There could be no mistaking that now. Not even the circumstances that held them apart—the untenable situation that put them on opposite sides of the law—could erase the desire they once knew. The desire that hadn’t banked in all the years Kellan had been gone, no matter how badly they both might wish it had.

  And he was hungered in another way too.

  She felt that hunger swelling as his mouth left hers on a snarl and drifted along her jawline, then down the sensitive column of her neck. His fangs grazed her skin, sharp and deadly, a bite she craved more than her next breath. The vein beneath her earlobe went electric with each teasing abrasion of his fangs against her throat.

  Desire swamped her, pulling her head to the side as his sharp kiss roamed the length of her neck. As reckless as it was to wish for it, she wanted to feel that delicious scrape linger at her carotid. She wanted to feel her tender flesh yield for him—only him—something she’d craved from him for as long as she could remember.

  Something he’d resisted with an iron will that seemed unbreakable, even now.

  “No,” he growled, a savage, raw sound. His eyes were searingly hot, pupils razor-thin, otherworldly. He was shaking, his beautiful chest and arms livid with the colors of twining thirst and desire. And yet his hands remained on her, strong fingers trembling as they continued to caress her. “Jesus Christ, Mira . . .”

  She knew he felt the same powerful pull that she did. She knew he desired her, craved her body and her blood. She knew he wanted to sink his fangs into her with the same fevered need that she felt to be the Breedmate beneath his binding bite.

  God help her, she would give him that right now, right here, and to hell with everything else. Kellan would be hers, again and forever. They would figure the rest out somehow, together, bound by blood.

  “Please,” she whispered, not caring a damn for how weak and vulnerable she sounded. All that mattered was Kellan’s hands on her, his breath warm and moist on her throat, fangs pressing deliciously against her willing flesh.

  “No,” he snarled, more forcefully this time. His fingers dug into her arms as he set her away from him with a gruff shake of his head. “I won’t, Mira. I can’t. Don’t let me make a bad situation worse.”

  He didn’t wait for her to reply. No, he didn’t even give her that chance. He dropped his hands from her and backed away. Then, with a further, vicious curse, he wheeled around and stalked out of the room.

  What the fuck was he thinking?

  Kellan stalked out of his quarters, every nerve ending on fire and snapping at the bit for a taste of Mira. His pulse hammered hard, echoing in his ears and temples, throbbing in his chest and groin. Everything male in him was lit up with need. Everything preternatural, otherworldly and wild, was roaring with the urge to take what he so badly wanted.

  Mira.

  In his bed, naked and hot beneath him. He wanted to feel her wet heat swallowing him whole. Wanted to pleasure her until she screamed his name, not in anger or distress, but urgent, desperate release.

  And yes, he wanted to pierce her vein and d
raw her lily-sweet blood into his body until nothing else mattered.

  Until she was bound to him as his eternal mate, where no laws, no lies, no damnable fate could keep them apart ever again.

  Holy hell.

  The urge to make that a reality—right here, right now—nearly set his boots on a reverse course, back to his chamber. It took all the self-control he had to keep himself moving on his forward path. His footsteps echoed sharply on the earthen floor of the bunker’s corridor. His transformed eyes threw a bright amber glow against the dingy concrete walls. His head rang with the fevered pound of his pulse, each beat a reminder of the thirst that raked him.

  A thirst he knew only one woman would ever truly sate.

  Unfortunately, he was Breed, and regardless of what—or whom—his heart craved, his body had needs that could not be ignored. He couldn’t recall precisely the last time he’d fed. Too long by far, based on the savage state he was in now.

  Kellan stalked up the dark hallway of the old fort, snarling and ripe with aggression. If it were nightfall outside, he’d break for the city and run until exhaustion purged the worst of his dual fevers. Hunting for a blood Host was easy in the thickly settled neighborhoods of Boston and its surrounding boroughs. No trick at all to find a willing and able human vein, even under the strict feeding laws and curfews imposed since First Dawn.

  But it was morning beyond the thick cement walls of his rebel lair.

  And he knew damn well the wait until sunset would be a torment he couldn’t withstand. Not so long as Mira was under the same roof.

  Not so long as everything savage and inhuman within him was hammering with the demand to seek her out again. To take her.

  To keep her as his own, regardless of the hell they would both be forced to pay in the end.

  He let a growl roll through his teeth and fangs as he headed for the main area of the bunker. Up ahead, he heard the soft drip of water in the shower room, the shuffle of bare feet on a wet concrete floor.

  Kellan glanced inside as he reached the open entryway. Candice was seated on a stone bench in the dressing area, combing out her wet black hair. Her skin was damp under her white V-neck T-shirt, the ink of her many tattoos bleeding through the thin fabric. She glanced over her shoulder at him as he paused in the doorway.

  Hazel-green eyes met his amber gaze and went wide for a second. She saw his hunger. She understood. She always had. With a mild nod, she set down her comb and made room for him beside her on the bench.

  Kellan hesitated, knowing this wasn’t what he wanted, not really.

  Candice knew that too. He saw the understanding in her gentle eyes as she watched him hesitate at the threshold of the room. She knew what he wanted, and from whom, and yet she still gave him a compassionate smile.

  She held her hand out to him, as she had so many times before.

  Kellan exhaled a ragged breath.

  Then he stepped inside.

  10

  FOR LONG MOMENTS AFTER KELLAN LEFT, MIRA DIDN’T SO much as move.

  Confusion rooted her bare feet to the floor. Hurt made it hard to breathe for the ache in her breast. And all the while, her pulse was still thrumming, her body still warm and vibrating with futile, foolish desire.

  Don’t let me make a bad situation worse.

  Kellan’s rejection stung, more than she wanted to acknowledge.

  So, that’s all she was to him now—a bad situation that was likely to turn worse?

  She didn’t want to believe that. His eyes had told a different story, full of amber heat and raging need. So did his body, hard with desire, dermaglyphs lit up like fireworks, his powerful hands trembling when he’d set her away from him and told her it couldn’t be.

  It was his words that left no room for error.

  He didn’t want her.

  It should have been enough, him telling her he would not have her. He could not let himself feel anything for her, despite the fact that their kiss had lost none of its fire in the time they’d been apart. Or that they still went up in flames for each other with the slightest touch. Still craved each other with a passion that defied even Kellan’s iron will.

  It should have been enough. It should have relieved her, giving her the chance to put him into an emotional compartment where he belonged: as her enemy. It should have provided some much-needed clarity about her duty as a warrior and her mission to ensure Jeremy Ackmeyer’s safety versus her impossible wish to see Kellan somehow brought back into the fold with the Order.

  Total fantasy, that.

  And yet there was a part of her that refused to let him go, even now.

  Especially now.

  It outraged her that he could just walk away from her and assume she’d accept it. Still pushing her away, the same way he’d done as that sullen, broken thirteen-year-old boy who’d arrived at the Order’s compound so full of pain and grief over the loss of his parents and kin. She hadn’t stood for that then, at age eight, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to stand for it now.

  Mira glared at the closed door he’d stormed out of a few moments ago.

  She thought about how hastily he’d gone—so hastily, she hadn’t heard the lock tumble into place behind him. She crossed the floor and tried the latch. It was open.

  Holy shit.

  A number of choices presented themselves to her in rapid succession. One, she could simply stay put like he expected her to and fume until he decided what to do with her next. Which totally wasn’t happening.

  Two, she could consider his rejection a gift to her mission objectives and attempt an immediate escape with Jeremy Ackmeyer. A risk, considering she and her human package would have to get past Kellan and all of his well-armed rebel crew.

  Or three, she could go after Kellan right now and make him face her. Force him to tell her that he cares nothing about her anymore, or if he does, then make him explain to her why he won’t try to fix things so they could try to renew what they once had together.

  No contest. She was taking Door Number Three.

  Mira had years of practice pulling Kellan out from behind the walls he’d constructed around himself. She wasn’t about to give up now.

  She quickly tossed on his sweatpants under the oversized T-shirt she’d slept in, then slipped out the door and into the hallway outside.

  The bunker was very still, little sign of early morning activity at this end of the stronghold. Mira headed in the direction she recalled would lead her to the base’s main room, where she assumed she might find Kellan. Worst case, if she ran into one of his crew instead, they would no doubt immediately summon their leader to her.

  But the place was so quiet, Mira wasn’t even sure anyone was around.

  Until she heard it . . . a soft sound, coming from up ahead, in one of the chambers off the corridor. The showers, where Candice had taken her to clean up last night.

  The sound coming from inside that room now was muffled, wet.

  Intimate.

  Something went tight in Mira’s stomach as her feet continued a silent trek up the hallway.

  There was a low murmur of voices—a female, then a male. Mira’s heart gave a heavy thud, like a clump of lead lodging in her rib cage. She knew that deep, low rumble. She knew the cadence of the softly spoken words. Private words. Caring words.

  Ah, God.

  Dread unlike any she’d known—not since the night she watched a warehouse go up in flames with Kellan inside it—seized her as she crept forward, agonizing, slow steps that eventually brought her to the open doorway.

  Candice was inside, seated on a flat bench outside the showers. Her long black hair was damp and glossy against her thin white T-shirt, her head tipped back, eyes closed in a reverent kind of bliss.

  And suckling at her wrist was Kellan. He crouched beside her, his dark head bent low over the human female’s arm, his sharp white fangs sunk into the tattooed flames that rode from Candice’s wrist to her forearm. With her free hand, Candice gently caressed his bare back with an e
asy familiarity that cut Mira straight to the bone.

  No, she corrected, finding it impossible to catch her breath.

  This cut straight to her broken heart.

  Horrified, all the fight drained out of her in an instant. Mira backed away silently, grateful she’d been unnoticed.

  Maybe this was why Kellan didn’t want her help bringing him back to the Order. Maybe this was the reason he seemed determined to stay with the human rebels who saved his life eight years ago.

  Maybe this was why he apparently found it so easy to turn his back on Mira and what they once had. Because he’d found someone else. Pretty, compassionate Candice.

  Now Mira’s idea to escape and take Jeremy Ackmeyer with her sounded like the better one by far. The way her chest ached, as though it might crack open any second, she couldn’t wait to get out of this place. She had to get as far away as possible, before the pain had a chance to dissolve her where she stood.

  She pivoted around—and came face-to-face with Vince.

  “Well, well. What have we here?” His mouth went flat along with his gaze. “The boss know one of his chickens has flown its coop?”

  Mira winced at the deliberately loud warning in the rebel’s voice. Movement in the shower room now. Urgent scrambling. A combination of combat boots and bare feet on the concrete floor.

  “Get out of my way.” Mira shoved Vince with all she had. The human stumbled backward on his heels, obviously caught off guard by her strength.

  She ran past him, heading up the corridor.

  Kellan was behind her now. Mira could feel his presence in the corridor but, against her own will, stole a glance back at him. He was wiping Candice’s blood from his lips. His eyes were bright amber, fiery orbs devouring pupils reduced to thinnest slits in their centers. His fangs were huge, and his dermaglyphs pulsed, still saturated with vivid color even after his feeding.

  The sight of him like that—fresh from drinking of another female—crushed her.