“How do you feel?” she asked, having to utilize every cell in her body for strength. Only problem was, those cells still craved McKell and urged her to lean toward him.

“Fine. I feel fine.” In that moment, utter hostility radiated from him.

Why, she didn’t know. Her gaze raked him. His color was high, his lips puffy and stained red. A bead of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he quickly licked it away, closed his eyes, savored. The sight of his tongue … get yourself under control. He wasn’t shaking, but his muscles were clearly knotted, stiff.

She waited. He didn’t hunch over, and he didn’t vomit. That could only mean one thing. According to vampire lore, she was his. Truly his. Any lingering disappointment and anger drained from her completely.

She was his, she thought with a grin, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Ten

Ava was his, McKell thought with a frown, and there was nothing he could do about it. Yet. There was no denying it now, either, not in any way. Not while the proof settled so sweetly in his stomach, strengthening him, burning him so magnificently, reshaping him into something far more lethal than he’d been. Her protector.

Damn, damn, damn. Because pairings were all about body chemistries and hormones, he could blame no one but himself. Well, and Ava. But why would his own body pair him with a human? He was offended, insulted, and … sated.

The first mouthful of Ava’s delightful blood had been heaven. The second, hell. He’d wanted more, all, every drop. Wanted her in every way imaginable. Stopping had been painful, but that need to protect … Ingrained.

His strength had improved with every swallow. His senses, too. His gaze could now cut through the dark as if sunlight followed him; every inhalation cataloged the scents around him, his brain instantly sorting them out and revealing exactly where—and who—they came from. The perfume of Ava’s skin—the orchids he’d discovered their first night together, a coconut milk he hadn’t, and that hint of sugar. Dirt, paint—new and old—coffee, syrup, even aged, unwashed urine at the side of the building. He could feel his body healing completely, flesh weaving back together, stitches popping out.

All wonderful, except now, without pain and weakness and hunger clouding his reactions, his shaft was hard as a rock. He wanted to strip his woman, throw her down, and sink deep inside her, thrusting, consuming, branding. And she wanted it, too. Need still pulsed from her.

He imagined those soft fingertips gliding over the slit in his penis, spreading moisture, gripping him, sliding up and down, wringing an orgasm from his very soul.

You were only supposed to seduce her into sharing her blood—not allow her to seduce you.

“Well,” she said, slapping her hands together in a job well done. “Now that we’ve taken care of that … let’s roll.”

How unaffected she suddenly sounded. He fought a wave of anger. Earlier, he’d saved her from walking into one of those glimmering doorways. Did she know? Did she thank him? No. Now he’d saved her from being ravished by a vampire in public. Still no thanks was forthcoming.

“You don’t wish to discuss your feelings for me first?” he demanded.

Her eyes narrowed, the thickness of her lashes shielding the brilliant amber of her irises. “My feelings?”

“Yes. I just drank your blood, and you enjoyed it. Were even aroused by it.” He sniffed the air, the delicious air that enveloped her, savoring the lingering scent of her desire. “Surely you wish to tell me how you—”

Scowling, she whipped out the small taser and held it out for his view. “We do not discuss feelings. Ever. Not even the ones you obviously have for me. Understand?”

He wasn’t within her reach, but he jumped backward, anyway. Too well did he recall how those volts had incapacitated him. “Fine,” he snapped. What was wrong with her? Females loved discussing their feelings, analyzing everything, and discovering how much of his time he planned to give them.

He might have been waiting for Bride all these decades, but he hadn’t waited alone. He’d taken lovers. Many lovers. Nothing serious, nothing long-term, and certainly no one human. Each of his partners had had one thing in common. That silly urge to discuss everything. From what he was feeling at the moment to what he expected himself to feel in a few years.

Why didn’t Ava?

She holstered the weapon and walked away, saying, “Follow or not. Get hit by a bus or not. Whatever. I don’t care.”

As if she truly meant what she said, she continued down the sidewalk without ever looking back. Why, that little … that … female! McKell gritted his teeth and chased after her, shouldering humans out of the way. No one dared confront him about his bulldozing tactics. Perhaps they realized how close to the edge of lethal he was.

“You must not realize the great favor I’ve bestowed upon you,” he said when he reached her side. Once there, he watched for one of those doorways, certain another wouldn’t appear tonight but unwilling to lower his guard. “You are my food-slave.” She was much more than that, but he would never admit it aloud. “Yet I treat you as an equal.”

Her gaze flicked up to him, amber fury glowing within. “The favor you have bestowed upon me? And did you just call me a food-slave?”

“Yes to both. Time and time again, you have hurt me, yet I have never retaliated. I only give you pleasure.”

She didn’t face him again, just increased the speed of her stride. “Pleasure? Ha! You are such an egomaniac.”

“And you’re deluded.”

“Expectant bastard.”

“Ungrateful harpy.”

“Pig.”

Silence.

The names they’d shouted at each other echoed through his mind, and he blinked in shock. He’d just slighted his woman. Twice. And he wasn’t sorry. He actually felt … better. Calmer. How odd. A vampire female would have broken down and cried, had he said those things, and he would have wallowed in guilt. Perhaps even have been executed by the king for the disturbance to their world. Ava merely hurtled another insult at him. And yet not once had there been hate woven into her tone.

Yesterday, hell, an hour ago, he hadn’t understood how Ava and Noelle could call each other names yet still claim to love one another. Now, though, the truth was so clear. They had simply been expressing their discontent. And it was nice. To never have to hold back for fear of hurting someone’s feelings, something he’d always had to do with his vampire lovers…. It was freeing.

Because vampires lived in a small, underground world, escape rarely an option, peace was essential. Hurting feelings could lead to discord, discord to war, war to total elimination of the people. Therefore, his every word had been measured. Speaking his mind, the truth, had never been an option. When execution had been the most likely result, burying his emotions had seemed prudent. He simply hadn’t realized the weight that kind of existence had pressed upon his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he told Ava, unable to mask his awe.

Her steps slowed, and he received another flick of her gaze, minus the anger “Thank you? Is this a trick?” She frowned, slowed even more. “Wait. Don’t answer that. Just … put your game face on.”

Game face?

They stopped in front of a red brick building with two guards posted at the entrance. Both were men, and both were holding pyre-guns. AIR agents, no question.

Ah. The bar. Now he understood.

He could smell every weapon in the vicinity. The soot on the barrel of the guns, the metallic twang of blades, the bloodstains on the tips of throwing stars, a piece of sharpened wood, poison, the sour motes emitted by grenades. For a moment, he wondered if this was some sort of trap to imprison him so that Mia Snow could finally speak with him. Kill him.

Ava was tricky enough to plan something like that, but why would she need to? he wondered next. He’d fallen asleep in her home. She could have cornered him then. Could have removed his heart, even, and he would have been defenseless.

He schooled his features, revealing no hint of his emotions. Not that he knew what he was feeling at the moment. “Game face on,” he said.

Ava pointed a finger into his chest, her brown eyes suddenly unreadable. Or … dare he hope he saw concern in those sensual depths? “Behave.”

“I will if you will.”

She squared her shoulders and faced the guards, flashing her trainee badge. “I was called in,” she said, “and he’s with me.”

They moved aside, allowing her to pass. McKell followed her, the men watching him through narrowed eyes. Did they know who he was? Probably. They reeked of anger and hints of fear.

Just to be on the safe side, he stopped time for them, not releasing them until he stepped through a set of double doors. The bar was small but well lit, with a concrete floor painted to look like grass and gravel, and walls painted to look like a haunted forest. The many tables and chairs littering the area looked as if they were comprised of real wood, but they smelled like metal.

Civilians had been ushered into the far corner, guards watching their every move and ensuring they remained docile. In contrast, agents bustled in every direction, taking samples from the pool tables, running tiny, beeping machines over the walls. He recognized a few of those agents, and made sure to stroke his necklace when they glanced his way. A pointed reminder of the consequences of messing with him.

Each had the same reaction. The bleaching of skin, the increase in heart rate, and the profusion of sweat. Excellent. Finally, reactions he expected.

Someone he didn’t recognize muttered, “Vampire,” and then the word spread like wildfire, echoing all around him. Soon, those who possessed all ten of their fingers stopped what they were doing and stared over at him, unaware of the danger they courted. A few even withdrew their guns.

Just as he geared up to stop time, and perhaps slap them around while no one could see him, Ava stepped in front of him and spread her arms, acting as his shield. “He’s come in peace,” she announced.

At first, the thought that she wished to protect him delighted him, even though he should be offended that she doubted his ability, his skill. She might not want to discuss her feelings, but this proved she did have them. Why else would she place herself in danger to keep him safe?

But then, the thought that she had placed herself in danger had him wishing for a hacksaw. No one placed his woman in danger. Even the woman herself.

McKell pushed her behind him, blocking her from view.

“We need him for the investigation,” she finished, moving to his side.

With those words, any lingering delight evaporated like mist. She hadn’t shielded him because of her feelings, as he’d supposed, hoped, but for her precious investigation. Yes, a hacksaw would be nice. Still. He tried to push her behind him again. She resisted.

“I don’t want to brag,” Noelle said, disrupting the terse quiet. She had been hidden in the shadows of a far corner, and now strode to the bar, lifted one of the overflowing shot glasses resting on a tray, and tossed back the contents. “But my friend just did what no one else could. She brought in the wicked vampire of the far south.”

The wicked vampire. He liked that.

“I could have done it, too,” someone muttered.

Ava stiffened.

“Who said that?” he snapped. How dare anyone question her skill!

No one stepped forward.

Ava relaxed, so McKell tried to force himself to do the same. The urge to kill continued to simmer, unwilling to be bottled. As he well knew, there was one thing guaranteed to put him in a better mood. “You should kiss your friend hello,” he whispered to Ava. “It’s the polite thing to do.”

“We only kissed to distract you,” she whispered back.

“Never, ever say that again. You enjoyed it. I know you did, and I’ll not be convinced otherwise.”

Her lips twitched.

And there it was. The one thing guaranteed to calm him. Her amusement. Helped that those lips were lush and pink, and if he leaned down just a bit, he could lick them.

Now isn’t the time. He hadn’t forgiven her for her casual disregard, he reminded himself.

A dark-haired woman stepped from the crowd of agents, her expression no-nonsense, her eyes a cold metallic blue. She was short, slim, young, and had the delicate face of a dancer. Mia Snow. At long last. He’d caught a glimpse of her once before, when her team raided the underground vampire caves and McKell escaped captivity, along with Devyn Targon.

Captivity. How he loathed the reminder, especially in a roomful of his enemy, for memories suddenly swamped him, holding him as surely as the iron bars had. He could hear the drip of water, slow, insistent, smell the dew on the crystals knifing from the ceiling, and feel the walls closing in on him. He hadn’t been fed, so hunger had gnawed at him, weakness eating at him.

Years ago, he’d been ordered to kill Bride. As powerful as she was, the royal family had feared her. And they’d had every right. Every vampire possessed a supernatural ability, but Bride, well, she possessed all abilities. There was nothing she couldn’t do. Which was why her kind were considered dangerous; which was why her kind, the nefreti, were slaughtered the moment they were identified. Always. But he’d loved her, or thought he had, and so, rather than remove her head, he’d sent her to this surface world. Anything to save her.

He’d had her memory erased, then branded his name into her wrist, meaning to find her one day, return her to their world, and finally wed her. He would have given her a new identity, of course, and no one would have known what she was, who she’d been. Only, his plan had failed. He’d returned her to the underground world, and the vampire king at last learned of his treachery, sentencing him to eternity in the dungeons.