He gave her the once-over. “Are you finished?”
The politeness was icy now, but still firmly in place. She could yell at him until she gave herself laryngitis, Charlie thought, and it wouldn’t make a difference.
“Yeah.” All the fight went out of her, and she trudged off, determined to get away from him before she made a bigger fool of herself.
A massive arm scooped her off her feet and deposited her over a broad, stiff shoulder. Charlie was so surprised she hung there without struggling as he carried her off the beach.
“Hey. Hey.” She twisted, but his hold simply tightened. “You can’t do this.”
“Yet I’m doing it.”
His voice sounded odd, and when she reached out with her mind she slammed into an impenetrable wall, so much like her own mental barriers that it dumbfounded her. “How did you—”
“I don’t know.” He edged his way between the rough, ringed bark of two coconut palms. “I don’t care.”
Charlie turned her head, trying to see where he was heading. “Is this supposed to impress me or intimidate me? Because it’s not working. I know you won’t hurt me.”
Samuel remained silent as he waded through the brush and stepped out into a small open area, where he deposited her on her feet.
Charlie eyed the blanket on the ground, on which a covered basket sat. All around the edges of the grass a hedge of scarlet hibiscus bloomed. “What is this?”
“My sad attempt at a romantic midnight feast.” He bent down and moved the basket to one side of the blanket. “I intended to surprise you.”
“When did you—” All the air jolted out of her lungs as Samuel seized her, dropping to his knees and laying her out on the blanket. Before she could breathe again he had her pinned under him, his mouth an inch from hers. “I don’t want to make love.”
“That’s convenient.” He reached down and tore her shirt from collar to hem, shoving the pieces aside before using his arm to lift her and rub her upper body against his chest. “Neither do I.”
“Sam. Please.” Charlie felt her entire body flush with heat. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” He covered one breast with his hand, kneading it urgently. “It means nothing, remember?”
He bent his head, not to kiss her but to put his mouth to her throat, dragging his teeth across her skin before he laved her with his tongue. The erotic abrasion sent a shock wave of lust through her head, demolishing her resolve and knotting in between her thighs.
When Charlie tried to touch him, he dragged her arms over her head, holding them there with one big hand while he hooked the other in the waistband of her shorts. She heard the button pop and the zipper come apart, and then he was sliding down over her, pushing her legs apart to make room, his breath hot and fast against her sex.
His tongue pushed into her, wet and forceful, going deep, fucking in and out of her before he lashed it over her clit. The heat and ache exploded inside her as she came against his mouth, her hands twisting bunches of the blanket as he penetrated her with his fingers, working them into the liquid contractions of her sheath, pushing her through the delight and into another realm where the world dissolved along with her.
Catching her breath was impossible; he was on top of her a heartbeat later, his big body hard, his muscles bunching as he shifted her legs to his arms and his cock to her folds, pressing in so thick and hard she shuddered, almost sure this time he would split her in half. But her body had been made for a man like him, and it flowered around him, taking him in and clasping him in the most intimate embrace, stroking the impaling shaft, stretching and contracting to grip the broad base.
She felt the weight of his testicles, heavy and tight, caught between the press of their bodies, and a ferocious need came over her. She wanted to feel his semen pumping into her more than she wanted to breathe.
“Look at me.” When she did, he drew out with a slow, torturous movement, leaving just the head of his penis tucked between the slick ellipse of her labia. “Now you tell me this isn’t real.” He released her wrists, cradling her face between his hands as he stroked into her and once more held himself there. “Walk away from this.”
The merging of their sexes had her shaking with need; blindly she struck at him with one fist, wanting the blow to hurt her as much as him. “I can’t.” She opened her throbbing fingers to press them to his lips. “I can’t give you what you want. I can’t love you if you’re going to leave me.”
“Then be with me, Charlotte.” He kissed her fingers, her palm, her wrist. “Be with me and love me, because I will never leave you.”
She felt his mind touch hers, his thoughts filling her with the strength and heat of his emotions. As their bodies moved together, his gliding and stroking in and out, hers holding and caressing, Charlie felt the last wall crumbling. He was all over her, inside and out, and there was no part of her he did not possess. She felt all that he was spreading through her, warm and delicious, twining around the surges of desire, enveloping her like water, illuminating the dark corners of her heart. She felt no fear as the pleasure broke over them, and wrapped her arms around him, taking the thick, heavy pulses of his semen into her core, immersing herself in the primal satisfaction of being a woman, his woman.
Sweat dripped from his face onto her shoulder as he sagged, his breath rushing against her ear, his fingers tangling with hers. When he tried to roll away from her Charlie held him, unwilling to release him from the clasp of her flesh.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“That I love you?” He lifted his head. “Good God, woman. I’ve all but tattooed the words on my forehead.”
“No, I meant us. This. That we could be like this together. It was good before, but this.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t even describe it. You were everywhere inside me.”
“The dark kyn seem to practice a form of emotional bonding. The texts describe it as evil and perverse, a deliberate corruption of matrimony, but I think it’s their form of love.”
“What do the vampires have to do with us?”
“We have abilities similar to theirs, and we already know that we’re drawn to each other.” He brushed some hair back from her cheek. “Perhaps we can create the same kind of bond.” He started to say something more, and then fell silent as he rolled away from her and sat up.
“Tell me.”
“None of us have birth records other than what was issued to our adoptive parents, which were forged. We know we were genetically altered and tattooed as infants before we were adopted out. We have powerful and diverse psychic gifts, we heal rapidly, and we’ve all survived injuries and illnesses that should have killed us. Agreed?” When she nodded, he glanced back at her and asked, “So why did they do it? What was the purpose?”
“Probably just to see if they could.” She propped herself up on her elbow, tugging him down beside her. “They must have thought they failed, or they wouldn’t have placed us for adoption.”
He nodded. “Before we were brought here, I believed the same thing.”
She slid her hand across his chest, tracing her fingers in small circles over his heart. “So what’s your new theory?”
“Charlotte, I think the scientists were trying to do the same thing as this Energúmeno, but in their case they actually succeeded.” When he saw her expression, he added, “We were created to be an army. One that kills vampires.”
Chapter 20
“We’re still conducting the street search, but all of the leads we’ve received have turned out to be dead ends,” Marlow said. “Nothing turned up on any of Energúmeno’s properties. The company that owns the cellular transmission tower outside the city sent a repair crew; they’re in custody now, but when they don’t report in, there will be inquiries. We don’t have much time left, sir.”
Jonah Genaro set aside the front page of the New York Times and drank the last of his coffee. “Did you question Delgado?”
He nodded. “The warden didn’t offer anything of value, although if you need any leverage on local politicians—”
Genaro glanced up. “What I need, Mr. Marlow, are Riordan, Taske, and Marena. Stop making excuses and find them.”
“Yes, Mr. Genaro.” Marlow turned on his heel and left.
The presidential suite at the Barceló Karmina Palace was as secure as it was sumptuous, but Genaro felt caged. Back in Atlanta he could have retreated to the vault beneath his enormous home, where he kept his extensive collection of antiquities. The only time he ever relaxed was when he was surrounded by the forgotten glory of his Roman ancestor, Genarius, who had clawed his way up from nothing to become one of the most important and influential men of his time. While Genaro didn’t believe in reincarnation, he had often felt as if his ancient ancestor watched over him, reaching an invisible hand across the millennia to guide him along the path to power.
Genarius wouldn’t have sat in a hotel suite, waiting like some indolent fool.
When Genaro stepped outside into the hall, two armed men turned toward him, their expressions blank, their eyes watchful.
“I’m going out for a few hours,” he told them as he went to the elevator.
In the lobby, he had the concierge send for his car, and directed his driver to take him to Energúmeno’s compound. Along the way he used the car phone to check in with Delaporte back in Atlanta.
“We’ve linked Les Frères de la Lumière to a European arson-for-hire ring,” his chief of security said. “They’re burning down properties and taking a cut of the insurance from the owners via charitable donations to the order. It’s all strictly across the pond, sir; we’ve confirmed that they’re not operating anywhere in Mexico.”
An inventive insurance scam, but not one that interested Genaro. “What about Energúmeno’s assets? Have you found anything new?”
