Abruptly, everything went out of Sola’s mind as her hand fumbled for the latch.
Assail gripped her arm. “No. Not until we’re in the garage.”
Unlike the rest of the trip, getting undercover took forever, that reinforced door trundling down like it had all the time in the world.
The instant it thumped into place, Sola burst out of that SUV and ran for the door. It was locked, and in her jammed-up mind, the only thing that occurred to her was to grip the handle harder and yank and pull—
Someone unlocked it remotely, because there was a clunk! and then suddenly things sprang open.
Her grandmother was on the far side of a squat anteroom, standing in the center of the kitchen, that white dish towel wadded up to her face, the scents of home cooking like love in the air.
Sola ran forward as her grandmother opened the only arms that had ever been there to hold her.
She had no clear knowledge of what was said in Portuguese, but on both sides, words flowed fast. Until her grandmother pushed her back and captured her face in those weathered hands.
“Why for you this sorry?” the woman demanded, brushing tears away with her thumbs. “No sorry for you. Never.”
Sola got pulled back in hard and held against that generous bosom. Closing her eyes, she sagged and let her brain shut down.
This was all that mattered. They were together. They were safe.
“Thank you, God,” she whispered. “Thank you, dear Lord.”
TWENTY-NINE
Of course it was Selena.
As soon as Trez heard the knock across his bedroom, he took a deep breath … and yup, her scent preceded her, drifting in under the door.
His body hardened instantly, his cock extending up his lower belly, pushing against the weight of the duvet.
Send her away, a part of him said. If you have any decency left in you—send her away …
Not exactly the best argument: He was, after all, contemplating putting his parents in a grave—so how much Boy Scout could he possibly have in him—
He stopped that mental wheelspin in its tracks. At this point, he was so blood starved, he wasn’t going to make any sense. Feed first. Then … think.
Right. Back to the Please, God, not Selena.
The problem was … who else was coming here to service him? He hadn’t seen any Chosen in this household except for her and Layla, who was now out of commission. And if he didn’t take the vein about to be offered, his only other option was to head out to the club and work his way through a half dozen human women—which was about as appetizing a prospect as drinking engine sludge.
There was also the issue that he was so far down into an energy wormhole that he wasn’t sure whether even that would be enough. Another fun fact? He didn’t think he could stand up to pull a pair of jeans on. So how in the hell was he going to go to the Iron Mask and—
The soft knock was repeated.
Pushing his hand under the covers, he shoved his erection around so that it would lie as flat as possible—and the contact made him grit his teeth.
You’ve got to do this with her, he told himself. Once and never again.
“Selena…” Shit, the sound of her name leaving his lips made him feel like his hand was back on his cock.
Oh, wait, he hadn’t taken the damn thing off.
As she opened the door, he whipped his arm out from under—and glared at it to stay put.
Sweet Mary, Mother of God … to quote that Boston cop.
She looked as beautiful as always in that white robing with her hair up, but his starvation turned her into a transcendental vision—that went right to his hips. His pelvis immediately started curling, his cock begging for something, anything from her.
This was a bad idea, he thought.
And sure enough, Selena hesitated in the doorway, glancing around as if she recognized the charge in the air.
It was his last chance to send her away.
He didn’t take it.
“Close the door,” he said in a voice so deep it warped.
“You suffer.”
“Close it.”
Click.
There was only a single lamp on, that one by the chaise longue, and the butter-yellow light seemed to act as a sound buffer, everything inside the room amplified, everything outside silenced.
Then again, maybe it was the color of her eyes doing that.
As she approached, she pulled up her sleeve, exposing her pale wrist. And in response, his fangs didn’t descend so much as punch out from his upper jaw—and shit, he didn’t want what she was going to offer. He wanted at her throat … he wanted her naked and underneath his body, his canines in her neck as his cock—
Moaning, he kicked his head back and gripped the duvet in his fists.
“Worry not,” she said in a rush. “Here, take of me.”
In spite of all the air in the room, his lungs began to starve for oxygen, shallow breaths pumping in and out of his open mouth.
And then her hand brushed his arm, and he moaned again, trying to twist away. Gritting his teeth, he knew this was a very bad thing.
“Selena, I can’t … I can’t do this…”
“I don’t understand.”
“You should leave…” Fuck, he could barely get the words out. “Leave or I’m going to…”
“Feed,” she cut in sharply. “You need to feed—”
“Selena…”
“You must take my vein—”
“—you’d better go…”
They were talking over each other, getting nowhere, when she took charge of the situation. At first, he thought his brain was playing tricks on him—but no, that was the scent of fresh blood in the room. Hers.
She’d scored her wrist.
Big mistake.
With a roar, he went for her—and not her wrist. His hands unlatched from the wadded sheeting and he grabbed her, taking her by the shoulders and flipping her across his lap to lay her out flat on the mattress.
He mounted her a split second later, the duvet folding up between them, his hands pinning her wrists up on the pillows by her head.
One look in her shocked eyes stopped him dead. And yet he couldn’t get off her.
Screw panting; he was breathing like a freight train, his body hard all over, his muscles twitching. “Shit…” he moaned as he dropped his head.
Get off of her, he ordered his body. Get the fuck off of—