Bittersweet Blood (The Order #1)

He sank down, pulling her onto his lap without breaking the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue thrust into her mouth and stroked. At first, she allowed him to have his way, but it wasn’t enough, and she started to move with him. At the soft glide of her tongue, his grip tightened. His hands slid over her, grinding her against the hardness of his body. It was like steel, and the muscles of her belly knotted and warm wet heat pooled between her thighs. Her body seemed to take over, and she wriggled her bottom into his hips, until he groaned against her mouth.

The air filled with a musky, feral scent, and Christian stilled. His hands gripped her arms, and he lifted her from him, depositing her on the cool silk of the sofa. He shifted as far from her as he could while staying seated.

Tara stared at him, fighting the urge to crawl across the space between them. She wanted him, needed him. She made a move, and he put up a hand to ward her off. It was like being doused in cold water.

“Why?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. “I think that perhaps you’re not so safe after all.”





Chapter Seven


Rule Number Three: Never remove the Talisman She didn’t want to be safe. She wanted to be in his arms. Christian smiled, his lips drawing back to reveal the long, razor-sharp canines.

“Oh.”

Tara stared at them in awe. All signs of humanity were stripped from his face, revealing the cold ruthless predator beneath. The smile slid from his face, and the humanity crept back into his eyes. He laid his head against the cushions and stared at the ceiling.

“I haven’t felt the urge to feed so strongly for a long time.” He regarded her curiously. “What is it about you, Tara Collins? Why do you affect me like this? Perhaps we should get down to business after all, and see if we can’t find out. First I need a drink.”

He switched on a light and the room became brighter. “There,” he said, “much more businesslike.”

He rose and moved around the room blowing out the candles, then he picked up the bottle of champagne and poured himself a glass. He glanced at her, and she shook her head. After swallowing his drink in one gulp, he poured another and came back to sit at the far end of the sofa. “Don’t look so worried. I have myself under control.”

It wasn’t Christian she was concerned about. She was the one who’d been out of control. Who’d nearly begged him to make love to her, to take her any way he wanted. And it frightened her. Falling for a vampire was not part of any plans she had for her future.

“So,” Christian said, “tell me about your aunt.”

Tara forced herself to concentrate. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. What was she like, how did you live, anything you think might help us get to the bottom of this.”

“I don’t remember anyone else, ever. It was always just Aunt Kathy and me. Oh and Smokey, of course. That’s my cat,” she added.

“I remember,” Christian said wryly.

“We lived in this big old house on the Yorkshire moors. It was very isolated—Aunt Kathy liked it that way. She didn’t trust outsiders, which was everyone except me. We had our food delivered, and my aunt schooled me at home. That’s why I’m at college now. She taught me a lot, but I don’t have any qualifications.

“I wasn’t supposed to leave the grounds, but sometimes I would creep away when she was busy. I liked to watch the people in the village. It’s funny, I didn’t realize how weird our lives were until I started watching other people.”

“You never thought to leave?” His expression was thoughtful, but the pity she dreaded was absent.

“Of course I did. I told her I was moving out when I was eighteen, but she got ill, and I couldn’t leave her alone. Despite everything, I loved her. She gave me the best life she knew how.”

“Hmm.” He sounded skeptical. “Did she ever mention the past or anything about your parents?”

Tara smiled. “You’re joking—and break Rule Number One?”

“Rule Number One?”

“My aunt liked rules. Number One was never, ever talk about the past, and I didn’t. It still makes me nervous to talk like this, as though I’m doing something wrong.”

“Were there a lot of rules?”

“A few. Rule Number Two was ‘don’t drink alcohol.’ I tried that, and it turns out it was a good rule. Maybe I have some sort of genetic disorder that can’t cope.”

“What happened?”

“One sip of white wine and I passed out.” She glanced at the champagne bottle and shuddered. “I won’t be trying that again anytime soon.”

“You’ve broken rules one and two. Is there a Rule Number Three?”

Tara smiled. “Rule Number Three—never take off the talisman.”

“What talisman?”

She reached beneath the collar of her shirt and pulled out the necklace. “It belonged to my mother. Or at least that’s what Aunt Kathy told me.”

Who knew whether it was true? Now, it seemed unlikely, and a wave of sadness ran through her. It was the one thing she had from her mother, or thought she’d had. “I’ve always believed that was true, so Rule Number Three wasn’t hard to keep.”

He rose to his feet. “Can I see?”

She held the necklace up. He took a step closer and cupped the pendant in his hand, turning it with his long elegant fingers. It was a heart-shaped locket made from some sort of opaque crystal.

“Does it open?” he asked.