Bittersweet Blood (The Order #1)

She pulled back. “Not when you’ve never had it.”


“There are other things you’ve never had,” he said in that same low voice. He stepped closer, crowding her against the vehicle. His hands came up, sliding into her hair, tilting her head so she had no choice but to look up into his face. He was all dark shadows and glowing eyes in the dim light of the underground garage. He kissed her again. His lips slanted hard over hers. She opened her mouth to protest, and his tongue slipped inside. It took all of ten seconds for Tara to become mindless. All her good resolutions forgotten. She closed her eyes, her hands reached up to grasp his shoulders, and she sank into the kiss. Long minutes later, he raised his head.

Tara let out a small whimper, and her grip tightened on his shoulders. He was so close she could smell the faint musky scent of his skin. She opened her eyes as a slight smile flickered across his features.

“I told you—normal is highly overrated.”

He gripped her hair and tugged her head back almost roughly. His lips were at her throat, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh, and her whole body tensed in anticipation as she waited for the sharp pain of his penetration. He nipped the skin between his teeth but the pain never came. Instead, he released her and she felt the slow almost languid stroke of his tongue against her taut flesh. The sensation was exquisite and without thinking, her head fell back to allow him access.

He ran a finger down her throat, and then took a small step back. “Did you know you have other veins, other places I can feed from?”

She stared at him wide eyed and he picked up her limp hand. He stroked the pad of his thumb across the thin skin of her inner arm. “One here at your wrist. And one…” He dropped her hand and reached down between them. “And one just here, between your thighs.” He stroked his finger down the seam of her jeans. “Would you like that, Tara? My mouth between your thighs?”

Tara couldn’t answer; she’d lost the ability to speak. Her insides were melting and threatening to slide out of her body.

He laughed softly, his hands gliding over her back, sure and firm. They splayed over her bottom and pulled her into him so she could feel every hard inch of him against her. He shifted, and the rigid line of his erection pressed against the softness of her belly. Her body clenched, and she curled her fingers into the hard muscle of his upper arms. He held her against him for a long moment. Then released her and took a step back.

He smiled ruefully. “I told myself I was going to give you time, let you sort out your personal issues before I gave you anything else to deal with. I guess I’m not very good at not taking what I want.”

He stroked the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. She trembled, dropped her hands from his arms then backed against the car and breathed in slowly.

“Er, right. Hadn’t we better get going?” She was proud of how steady her voice sounded. “After all, you don’t want to be on the road when the sun comes up.”

They drove through the almost deserted streets of London. Tara stared at his hands on the wheel, the long, elegant fingers. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing strong forearms, the skin pale with a slight sprinkling of dark hairs. He had a circle of scars, like bracelets, around each wrist, as though he’d been tied up at some time. Was it before he became a vampire?

She had so many questions she wanted to ask. How old he was, where he came from, had he a family? She made a mental note to ask him sometime but just now, she didn’t feel inclined to break the silence. Despite what had happened between them, the atmosphere in the car was comfortable. So she sat back and watched the passing lights.

After a while they left the city behind and sped northwards on the dark motorway. The car was warm and she drifted off into a light sleep.

…

Christian knew the moment she fell asleep. He glanced away from the road. Her eyes were closed, her lush pink mouth slightly open. He remembered the taste of her. He’d almost lost it. All his good resolutions had vanished with the first taste of those lips. She was intoxicating.

He could blame some of it on the demon blood he’d drunk that night. He could still feel it race through his body, intensifying his senses.

Piers had called him with news that another agent had died, and they had gone hunting together. They had caught up with the demons and taken them down, sated themselves on the blood—just like old times.

Still, it hadn’t lessened his hunger for Tara; he was beginning to crave her like an addiction. He’d almost bitten her back there. That was the unfortunate aspect of demon blood—it lowered his inhibitions.

What would they find in Yorkshire? What secrets would the house hold and would it reveal them? An undead guardian and a magical charm. Why? What could she be hiding?