Selene Page 8

  Her stomach filled with cold lead. “Oh, Christos.” Selene swallowed dryly, picked up the glass of milk and took a long drink. It curdled her uneasy stomach immediately, but she knew better than to ignore a meal in front of her. “There goes my job.”

  And any hope I had of quietly finding out who killed him. But why alert the press if you think you’ve killed me outside Danny’s apartment? But no, they’d been waiting for her outside the police station.

  There was only one answer. It’s a message. “Give my regards to Nikolai.”

  “The university will keep you, Selene,” he said quietly. “I will see to it.”

  Yeah. As usual, he thought that would make her feel better about the mess her life was becoming. “I don’t want you to pressure them into keeping me on. That’s like the playground bully picking me for a friend. It just makes things harder.” Besides, I think I’ve got bigger problems than that right now. But thanks for the thought.

  He persisted. “When you go to work, I’ll send Rigel with you as your assistant. That should ease your—”

  “No, Nikolai.” She finished the sandwich, licking her fingers. The jelly clung, sweet and sticky, and her eyes half-lidded. “The job’s done. Forget it. I’ll get something else.” As soon as I finish sussing out who killed my brother, I’ll blow town. I’ll find a way to live under the radar, even if it kills me. She sucked on her two first fingers, making sure every little bit of jam was gone. So this is a vendetta someone’s got with you. Figures.

  Nikolai’s gaze was fixed on her face. Or more precisely, on the lower half of her face.

  Selene’s cheeks prickled with heat. She slipped her fingers out of her mouth. That was even worse, because his gaze fastened on her lips. “Don’t look at me like that, okay?” Instead of sounding like an order, it came out half-breathless, plaintive.

  His eyes had the predator’s shine again. “Like what?” He leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers in front of his chest. He didn’t look away. Selene’s battered body felt the chill in the air and responded, her nipples peaking and her flesh suddenly sensitive. She glanced away, at the fire.

  She could still feel his eyes on her. He had so much goddamn Power, and she responded to it, especially if he wasn’t careful.

  “Like you’re hungry,” she heard herself say. And of course, that was it exactly. He stared at her like he was starving—and she was dinner.

  “Perhaps I am.”

  “You fed last night.” It was the same breathless little voice she seemed to only have when he was around, not her usual confident tone. Isn’t it enough that you helped kill my brother? When did you decide to take over my life and treat me like your personal entertainment center? Poke the poor stupid sexwitch, listen to her beg.

  “I do not think it was enough. And you need Power, Selene. To heal your wounds.”

  You know, I think I’d like to heal normally. Since you put it that way. She took another drink of milk. Her entire body ached. “I have to start finding out who killed Danny. If I. . .if you feed, if I let you feed, then you’ll leave me alone to go hunting whoever—”

  “No. But if you. . . allow me to feed, I will allow you to come with me while I acquire information that will lead me to whoever killed your brother and sought to rob me of you.”

  As if I’m a color television lifted from the back of a truck. “Rob” you of me. Charming. She licked her lips, wished she hadn’t when his gaze rested on her mouth again. “Fine.” She set the half-full glass of milk back down. Her stomach closed tighter than a fist. Well, I got the information, I have to pay for it. Oldest law in the universe: nothing’s free. And the second oldest law is that everyone wants to screw you. Literally, in my case. “What is it you want, Nikolai?”

  “I think the bed will do,” he said, meditatively. Power roiled and weighted the air; the sudden heaviness blurred her vision, set her heart to pounding, teased at her skin. He had been careful, keeping the full weight of Power from escaping him, knowing how it affected her. Go figure.

  The door, which had obediently sat half-open all this time, creaked closed, swinging on its hinges and latching shut with a hollow boom. Selene started, her shoulder twinging.

  Nikolai’s smile widened slightly.

  “Fine.” She struggled to her feet. Her ankle rolled again, sending a flare of pain up her leg. “Christos, just fuck me and get it over with, don’t make a huge production out of it!”

  He rose in one fluid motion and caught her as she swayed. His hands somehow found their way under her sweater, slid against her belly. They molded the shape of her ribs; Selene’s head tipped back. One hand moved against her back, pulling her against his body, the other slid slowly up to cup the weight of her breast, gently, his thumb rubbing over her nipple and drawing a startled gasp from her.

  Nikolai bent down, his lips touching her throat, right where the pulse beat. “Now, now,” he whispered. “Do I not treat you well, dorogaya moya?”

  Fire raced up her body, and the curse woke up, pounding in her veins. It wasn’t as overpowering as it had been last night—she wasn’t crazed with need—but still, he knew just what to do. Just how to make her helpless.

  “Yeah, you’re a real prince,” she managed. His thumb kept stroking evenly. Her hips strained forward, seeking.

  Her body had betrayed her again.

  God, Jesu, whoever you are, whoever made me like this, I hate you. And to top it all off, I hate him too. Why won’t he leave me alone?

  “I feared the worst,” he murmured, his lips flirting delicately with sensitive skin. She was wet by now, dripping down the insides of her thighs. Her hips pushed against him. The radiant warmth of the fire stroked along her hip, her back, only slightly less delicious than the heat of his mouth against her throat. His tongue flicked delicately against her skin, rough and catlike, taking in her scent.

  The tongue of the Nichtvren species is full of barbs that closely resemble a cat’s. These barbs have a dual function, both to prepare the skin for the teeth and also in—Her own voice, as she stood at a lectern with eager faces in front of her. A degree in Paranormal Studies was still almost like admitting that you believed in the Tooth Fairy or worshiped some huge hairy beast. Some of the smaller universities, especially the ones which had been ‘religious’ before the War, wouldn’t offer the course, no matter if you needed it to qualify for federal funding.

  “What?” she gasped. God, the least you could do is leave me alone, my brother’s dead because of you and your sucktooth games, do you have to rape me too? Only it isn’t rape if I enjoy it, is it? That’s why it’s okay for you to use me, right?

  But it’s not. It’s not. It was useless. She couldn’t think with him so close, her curse rising and tearing at rational thought, drowning her in sensation.

  He tore the sweater up the back, his claws extended, in one swift movement. He’s getting hard on clothes, thank God the sweater’s his. “I feared you injured, or dead,” he murmured, kissing up her throat. She swayed, he caught her again, moving with her, a hard length pressing through his jeans. It wasn’t his fault—they all wanted her, she was tantraiiken. The same old story, she’d been born addicted to sex, hooked on a drug she’d never chosen to taste. “—centuries.”

  “Hmm?” It was a low inquiring sound, she pressed against him again and he swore, something low and vile in whatever harshly-accented tongue his sentences were occasionally salted with. “What were you afraid of?” A gasp tore at the end of the question.

  Even that’s a whore’s question, I don’t care what he’s afraid of, I just can’t stop talking. Self-loathing crawled through her belly, tainted the harsh air as her breathing quickened.

  The sweater came free. He stopped caressing her breast long enough to slide his hands beneath her bottom and pick her up, his fingers biting in, her legs wrapping around his waist. She clung to him, he bent his face to her breasts and licked, making her squirm. She found that she had threaded her fingers into his hair and was pulling him
into her, making little throaty sounds of need.

  They fell on the bed, Nikolai disentangling himself long enough to tear his shirt off over his head. Selene found she was laughing. It was the only time he was less than absolutely graceful. She slid her hands into his jeans and found the smooth curve of his buttocks, muscle flickering under her fingers. He hissed something. Her laughter was beginning to take on a hitching, gasping, sobbing sound.

  “Shhh,” he soothed, as Selene wrapped her legs around him. His skin was volcano-hot, they lay tangled together, his fingers in her hair, Selene’s ankles locked at the small of his back. Her injured ankle flared with pain and her shoulder was a sharp throbbing agony. He went completely still, looking down at her, propped on his elbows, his eyes gone dark and deep. “Selene?”

  At least the space inside her head was her own. “Go ahead and feed,” she whispered, and closed her eyes, shutting him out. Hot tears trickled down her temples, sank into her damp hair. “Don’t mind me.” It doesn’t matter to you, it never matters to any of them. Christos, just hurry up and take what you want, the sooner you do the sooner you’ll leave me alone.

  “You’re weeping.” As if surprised.

  Selene went limp under him, resigned. Just get it over with, will you? Fuck my body if you have to, but leave the rest of me alone. “Of course I’m crying,” she said, her body gone hot and prickling with a sudden flush of Power. “My b-b-brother—” Shut up, Selene. That’s not his business. The bed was soft underneath her, she sank down helplessly.

  “I did not want you to see. . .” He sounded, of all things, uncertain.

  Nikolai, uncertain? No. I didn’t hear him right. “I had to. He’s my brother.”

  And it’s my fault, sucktooth. Someone else tore him into bits, but it’s my fault. And for once I’m not fucking blaming you, either. Even though I am, you got him involved in whatever killed him, but if I wasn’t what I am you never would have been interested in me and—

  He freed his fingers from her hair long enough to stroke her cheek, a gentle and completely unexpected touch. “A bargain is a bargain, dear one.” But still he didn’t move, though she could feel him pressing against her inner thigh, hot skin against slick dampness. She was wet and the low constant ache had started again. She wasn’t drained, but her body wanted completion now.

  Again. My curse. Selene’s throat was blocked with unshed tears. “Just get it over with.” It took work to force the whisper out.

  “Do you still hate me?” He kissed along her throat. His teeth scraped above the pulse and Selene’s heart slammed against her ribs.

  “Don’t,” she began. “Nikolai—don’t!”

  “Too late,” he whispered, and his hips came down. She was so slick and wet with need that he had no difficulty—and at the same moment, he drove his teeth into her throat.

  A bolt of fire slammed through her nervous system, she tried to scream, couldn’t find the breath. Instead, a low reedy sound escaped her. Her hips jerked up, helping him, he drove into her body as if he wanted to hurt her, long rough thrusts that pushed her down into the velvet softness of the bed. Selene, caught between the sheets and his teeth, arched and tried again to scream.

  The first climax shook her, white fire exploding behind her eyes, lack of oxygen making it even longer. It seemed to take forever, her fingernails driving into his shoulders hard enough to bruise, the Power rising through her entire body and spilling through every nerve channel, static crackling in the air. Sparks rang against the edges of the bed, electrical energy spilling out and mixing uneasily with the close, still air.

  The warm darkness folded around her. It was the blood-dark, she’d read prurient accounts of it in research texts. Loss of blood and the overcharge of electromagnetic energy driving the brain into a sort of storm; sometimes humans got addicted to it, craving pulsing warm womblike blackness.

  It’s nothing like they told me, she thought wonderingly, before the second climax slammed into her, even harder than the first. Her entire body arched, and a long breathless howl burst from her throat.

  Nikolai’s fangs retracted, slid free of her flesh. His tongue rasped against the small wounds he’d made, the barbs and coagulant combining to shut off the flow. He kissed her mouth, a kiss flavored with copper and his own breath—and the coppertaste of her own blood. It sang through her, wine and spice and darkness and blood, she shook her head, trying to tear her mouth away from his. You bastard, I wish I could kill you. You weren’t supposed to bite me, you were just supposed to rape me!

  His fingers slid against her cheek, forced her mouth back up to his. Nikolai settled into her body, pulsing inside her, he moved slightly and she gasped again. She stretched around him, her internal tissues rubbed raw and exquisitely sensitive, the slightest friction sending waves of sensation sliding through her. Her throat burned.

  He bit me, oh God, ohno, he BIT me!

  Even now she couldn’t stop. She strained against him, his mouth against hers, his tongue sliding against hers, she was kissing him, tasting her own blood on his lips. He broke away from her mouth, kissing the corner of her lips, her cheek, along the corner of her jaw. Each kiss was a brand pressed against her skin, white-hot. The sparks were still crackling in the air when the third climax took her, long and low like a freight train at midnight, her body shuddering and jerking. Nikolai barely moved, Selene’s own frantic response doing all the work for him. He did kiss her, over and over, printing blood-flavored kisses on her cheek, her throat, her jaw, her mouth, as if he couldn’t stop.

  It finally ended. Selene shuddered into stillness. Her eyes closed. Power spilled into bruised and torn flesh, knitting together, repairing bruises and torn muscles. It was Nikolai—she didn’t have any of the control required to perform even the smallest act of magick right now.

  I’ve been infected, oh God, please help me. “Stop,” she gasped. “Stop it. Please—”

  It was all she could say, all she could even think. Please, no please, please no, please. Begging, pleading, entreating, imploring, helpless.

  Too late.

  “You agreed to bear my sigil,” he murmured in her ear. Her fingernails tore at his shoulders. He didn’t even have the grace to pretend he noticed.

  Her eyes flew open, met his. He was smiling again, that amused, slightly ironic smile, his dark hair falling forward, brushing her face. His lips were stained dark.

  “But the. . . the necklace—” Jesu fucking Christos, I sound like Mizzie the goddamn Mouse. I wasn’t ready, I thought he wasn’t going to do that, I thought he was just going to use me again.

  Panic beat underneath everything else. Infected. She was infected. Good luck getting a job, good luck getting away from him, good luck doing anything now. He’d bitten her.

  “No,” he said, and he kissed the sore spot on her neck. “This. My sigil.”

  “Then what—” Her body went liquid around him. It burned on her throat, the wound, a new fire spreading through her bloodstream.

  “The medallion is something else.” He nuzzled her cheek. It was absurdly calming. Selene’s skin roughened with gooseflesh. It only excited her more. She moved, her legs clasping him, even while she raked at his skin with her broken fingernails and tried to push him away. “Shh, be still.”

  “Get off me.” She tried to fight him, it was no use. He simply caught her wrists, held them down, used his weight to keep her pinned to the bed until the breath was pressed out of her again. Then he took pity on her, maybe, and let up a little. But he did not slide free of her. Instead, he moved again, a shallow thrust that made her entire body jerk against his.

  A thread of exquisite, helpless, glassy hatred boiled through her, deepened. I might not be able to fight you, but I can dream about killing you.

  “You gave your word,” he whispered in her ear, kissing a strand of her hair. “I gave mine.”

  “I hate you,” she sobbed, even as he gave her what she needed. “I fucking hate you.”

  He didn’t even pretend it m
attered. “Hate me if you like. As long as you live, I don’t care.”

  Five

  They brought her a dress. If she wanted to go with Nikolai, she had to wear it.

  Of course, Selene thought numbly, pushing her hair back. She had needed yet another shower, this one scalding-hot, and she sobbed while scrubbing until her skin was pink and raw. Nikolai was nowhere in evidence when she emerged from the bathroom. But the dress lay on the bed, mute and accusing.

  The same glass ball of calm that had descended over her at the sight of Danny’s body was around her now, but it was cracking. A scream beat inside her chest, she swallowed it. Don’t you dare break now, Selene. Don’t you dare.

  Silver and black, silken and lovely, a long skirt and low neckline, skimming over her hips to fall to the floor, bell sleeves falling over her hands—she pulled it over her head, slowly, and smoothed it over her shoulders and hips.

  The tender place on her neck throbbed. The feeling sent a wire of cloying, nauseating warmth down into her stomach. She made it back into the bathroom like a sleepwalker, the glass ball cracking even more.

  She tilted her chin up to one side, examined her throat in the mirror. The mark was distinctive, two pinpricks in the middle of an oval of purple-red bruising with a serrated edge. One hell of a hickey, the chemicals of Nichtvren saliva mixing with the Power Nikolai had used to make a mark nobody could possibly miss. Just like a brand.

  Infected.

  Selene combed her hair back, roughly, yanking at tangles. Her entire body glowed, not caring that she had just. . .had just been. . .

  Infected. That’s the word you’re looking for. Bitten by a monster.

  And you still fucked him.

  Everything inside her revolved, fruitlessly. There went all her dreams of escaping, of getting out somewhere, of finding a place where she wasn’t a slave. There went everything she’d ever hoped for since she realized what she was. It was all gone, finished, burned up, because she was infected.