well-being.
“Then turn around and bleed into the sink,” she said.
He looked affronted. “That’s granite ,” he said.
Riley dabbed at the blood still pooling in the crook of Nick’s arm. “If you weren’t so goddam…well, male , Nick, I’d accuse you of being gay.” She said it to keep the mood in the kitchen light and superficial. Anything to keep her attention away from his bare chest, and the thick pectoral muscle right by her cheek. The rounded shoulder cap level with her eyes each time she lifted her gaze from the wounds.
“Ironic, under the circumstances,” he said softly.
“Do you even think in those terms?” she asked. And she made the mistake of looking him in the eye, and was caught.
“Not the way the modern world does.” His voice was low. Rich and strong.
God, she could drown in his eyes. Blue. So blue. She couldn’t look away.
His arm where she was still technically swiping at the blood moved. The fingers of his right hand came to rest on her hip at the top of her jeans. The tee shirt she was wearing was too small from too many washings and tended to ride up and show off a band of flesh. His fingers caressed the flesh now, so softly she might have imagined it. But she didn’t imagine the effect. She trembled, unable to tear her gaze away from Nick’s, her breath shortening down to uneven exhalations and choppy inhalations. Even his thumb left a searing little arc of burning flesh across her hipbone.
Her breasts grew heavy and she wished mightily she wore a bra. He must surely see her nipples extend and harden. The tee shirt was tight across her breasts. He would see everything, except that he was staring into her eyes.
But Nick was a vampire and could sense everything about her. He could pick up the slightest change in her pheromones.
And so could Damian. Her heart skittered. He must surely know by now what was happening in the kitchen.
“God help me, I can feel you,” Nick murmured. “ See you on that table.” His fingers clenched around her hip.
“Nick,” she begged. “Look away. Let me go.”
“You want me.” His voice was rough. Hoarse with his own needs, and not all of them were sexual.
“Oh, Nick…” The unanswerable question. Why did he have to ask it now? So soon? So late? Too late?
When Damian’s fingers curled around the back of her neck, Riley almost moaned in agony. How much had he heard? How much had he witnessed?
“Answer him,” Damian said softly. “Answer truthfully.” His fingers caressed gently. Soothingly. While Nick’s hand sent another message altogether.
Nick still hadn’t looked away from her eyes. She was lost in his gaze. “I want you,” she said honestly. “I want you as badly as I want Damian.”
A shudder went through Nick. His fangs slowly emerged, as he lifted his gaze to Damian’s face. “You’re playing with real chess pieces again.”
“The game is worth it.”
“That is what you said last time.”
“I was right then, too.”
“People died, then.”
Riley looked up at Damian, startled. “What is he talking about?”
Damian smiled. “London, 1593. A long story, full of intrigue and for another time.” He looked at Nicholas. “I’ve placed the wards on every door and window. We’re covered for now. Riley should be brought up to date.”
“Up to date on what?” Riley asked.
Nicholas looked down at the gashes on his arm. “We’re no longer the hunters. We’re now the hunted. Azazel did this.”
“The demon that raises the gargoyles?”
“What guise is he using now?” Damian asked, his hands on Riley’s shoulders. His chest was against her back, strong and reassuring.
Nick’s hand settled back on her hip with a casual movement and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, although Riley’s pulse sky-rocketed. Damian’s hands tightened just a bit, letting her know he’d felt her reaction.
“A small woman, barely bigger than Riley. Blonde. Green eyes. The green eyes were what
“Then turn around and bleed into the sink,” she said.
He looked affronted. “That’s granite ,” he said.
Riley dabbed at the blood still pooling in the crook of Nick’s arm. “If you weren’t so goddam…well, male , Nick, I’d accuse you of being gay.” She said it to keep the mood in the kitchen light and superficial. Anything to keep her attention away from his bare chest, and the thick pectoral muscle right by her cheek. The rounded shoulder cap level with her eyes each time she lifted her gaze from the wounds.
“Ironic, under the circumstances,” he said softly.
“Do you even think in those terms?” she asked. And she made the mistake of looking him in the eye, and was caught.
“Not the way the modern world does.” His voice was low. Rich and strong.
God, she could drown in his eyes. Blue. So blue. She couldn’t look away.
His arm where she was still technically swiping at the blood moved. The fingers of his right hand came to rest on her hip at the top of her jeans. The tee shirt she was wearing was too small from too many washings and tended to ride up and show off a band of flesh. His fingers caressed the flesh now, so softly she might have imagined it. But she didn’t imagine the effect. She trembled, unable to tear her gaze away from Nick’s, her breath shortening down to uneven exhalations and choppy inhalations. Even his thumb left a searing little arc of burning flesh across her hipbone.
Her breasts grew heavy and she wished mightily she wore a bra. He must surely see her nipples extend and harden. The tee shirt was tight across her breasts. He would see everything, except that he was staring into her eyes.
But Nick was a vampire and could sense everything about her. He could pick up the slightest change in her pheromones.
And so could Damian. Her heart skittered. He must surely know by now what was happening in the kitchen.
“God help me, I can feel you,” Nick murmured. “ See you on that table.” His fingers clenched around her hip.
“Nick,” she begged. “Look away. Let me go.”
“You want me.” His voice was rough. Hoarse with his own needs, and not all of them were sexual.
“Oh, Nick…” The unanswerable question. Why did he have to ask it now? So soon? So late? Too late?
When Damian’s fingers curled around the back of her neck, Riley almost moaned in agony. How much had he heard? How much had he witnessed?
“Answer him,” Damian said softly. “Answer truthfully.” His fingers caressed gently. Soothingly. While Nick’s hand sent another message altogether.
Nick still hadn’t looked away from her eyes. She was lost in his gaze. “I want you,” she said honestly. “I want you as badly as I want Damian.”
A shudder went through Nick. His fangs slowly emerged, as he lifted his gaze to Damian’s face. “You’re playing with real chess pieces again.”
“The game is worth it.”
“That is what you said last time.”
“I was right then, too.”
“People died, then.”
Riley looked up at Damian, startled. “What is he talking about?”
Damian smiled. “London, 1593. A long story, full of intrigue and for another time.” He looked at Nicholas. “I’ve placed the wards on every door and window. We’re covered for now. Riley should be brought up to date.”
“Up to date on what?” Riley asked.
Nicholas looked down at the gashes on his arm. “We’re no longer the hunters. We’re now the hunted. Azazel did this.”
“The demon that raises the gargoyles?”
“What guise is he using now?” Damian asked, his hands on Riley’s shoulders. His chest was against her back, strong and reassuring.
Nick’s hand settled back on her hip with a casual movement and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, although Riley’s pulse sky-rocketed. Damian’s hands tightened just a bit, letting her know he’d felt her reaction.
“A small woman, barely bigger than Riley. Blonde. Green eyes. The green eyes were what
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