“Broadway is touristy,” she says. “Loud and sweaty and just consuming. A bit of a Vegas feel with probably even more drunk people than sin city. The Gulch is more culture and food. What do you do for a living?”
“Me and a couple of friends run a private security company,” I say, my standard answer to the question.
“What kind of security?” I ask, ever so curious about this man and his life.
“We aren’t cheap, and neither are our clients,” he replies. “Aside from our private clients we consult with the local officials.”
I’m intrigued and want to ask more, but the moment is lost.
We’re now at the front of the hotel and one of the doormen, Nelson, greets me. “Evening, Eli.” And then to Ivy, he adds, “Ms. Miller. I hope you’re enjoying the city.”
“I am,” she assures him. “Very much. I tried that coffee shop you suggested. It’s absolutely yummy. Thank you, Nelson.”
He beams. “So happy you enjoyed it.”
She has a way about her, I think.
An Ivy way about her.
“You never recommended any damn coffee for me, Nelson,” I grumble.
He laughs. “Yes, well, you’re more the donut kind of guy, now aren’t you?”
“Oh donuts,” she says. “Please tell me where to get good ones. I love donuts.”
I force myself to bite back an offer to take her to my favorite spot. “Sugar Tops, just around the corner,” Nelson supplies. “You won’t be sorry.”
“I’ll go soon,” she says. “And bring you some back, too.”
She waves at Nelson, and together we step through the sliding glass doors, the walk to the elevators short, and once there, I punch the up button. The idea of being alone with her in a small space stirs that clawing sensation in me, the hunger, the thirst—not that it ever left, but it’s stronger now, burning through me. A car dings and while I want to let her go, I need to let her go, I also know I have to be able to find her, protect her. The doors open and I step inside with her.
I follow her and damn it, another couple joins us. She punches in her floor. I don’t punch mine. The other couple punch in theirs. In silence, the five of us ride upward until the couple exits. We’re alone again, the car moving, seconds ticking, only her destination lit up.
The elevator halts. The doors open. She turns to me. “Are you—do you want—?”
“Yes,” I say, taking her hand, the touch heating my cold blood.
I lead her into the hallway, reading her mind and knowing her room number, but she tells me anyway. “707.”
We stop at her door and she slides in the key. I tell myself I won’t stay. To turn her requires multiple exchanges of blood when not long ago, we believed a mate had to be drained and fed to turn. But I don’t need more than one exchange for a mental bond, just enough to find her if she needs me.
She swipes her card and then turns to me. “I don’t know what I’m doing. What are we doing?” She doesn’t give me time to answer, adding. “I don’t normally do this. I don’t know you.”
I step into her, hand on her waist, the other cupping her neck under her hair, my legs aligning with hers as I walk her back into the room.
“I—” she says, and then she’s backed against her wall, and I’m already kissing her, stroking tongue to tongue.
She moans, and my body moans with her, need consuming me. My lips leave hers and find her neck, teeth sinking into her flesh. She gasps as the drugging effect of my teeth consumes her, demanding her submission. I drink the sweet liquid, the taste of her blood addictive, the shift inside me real in ways I didn’t think possible. I don’t know what Ivy tasted like, but I know how she felt, how she smelled. And those things are far too familiar right here, right now. It fucks with my head. I pull back, lick the wound, and seal it.
She pants as I pull back and stare down at her. “What did you just do?” she whispers. “What just happened?”
“Nothing you will remember,” I compel her. “Just like you won’t remember this.”
I bite my wrist and hold it to her mouth, my eyes again compelling her to do what I never allow anyone: to take from me. “Drink,” I order.
Her mouth covers my wound and she gently sucks, but I don’t allow her to take much. Just enough to enhance her senses. She’ll sense danger more readily. She’ll know evil when she's in its presence.
“Stop,” I order, and the moment her mouth is off my arm, my mouth is on her mouth, kissing away the blood. But not for long. The longing in me is too brutal, too intense for me to resist if I stay with her. And I can’t stay with her and not claim her. And she deserves better than me and my life, in the life that would become her life.
I part our lips, and by the time I do so, the wound on my arm is healed.
But the impact she’s had on me is not.
“Sleep well, Ivy,” I say softly before I walk to the door and exit.
Once I’m in the hallway, I pull the door shut, and lean against it, every muscle in my body tense. I can smell her. I can hear her heartbeat. I can still taste her on my lips. I have wanted as a vampire, craved in carnal, primal ways, an animalistic hunger for blood and sex, a part of who I am now. But not since my youth, as my newborn vampire self, have I struggled to control my urges.
Not in all my years as a man or a vampire have I hungered for a woman as I do now. Not even with my wife and I don’t know what to do with that reality.
There’s a shift in the air and I know the moment she’s there. Ivy leans on the door, just behind me, as if she knows I’m here. She does know. I can feel her but she can feel me, too. With the blood bond, I could push into her mind, read her thoughts, but I won’t do that. I’m not going to take from her, not unless it’s for her safety. But if I don’t leave and leave now, I will open the door and take her in every way possible. I push off the door and put distance between myself and the woman named Ivy, who I could so easily ruin for all of eternity.
CHAPTER FOUR
An hour later, I’m on my balcony, a glass of whiskey in my hand, thinking that the Coven of the Rain magic that’s given me back food and sunlight are curses, not blessings. When a vampire is too human, we behave like humans. We get too close to humans. We find emotional components of ourselves, and that includes distraction. And distraction is death.
We are not humans. We are vampires, and I am a warden, sworn to protect innocents of all races and kinds. That includes my new “friend,” Ivy.
The wind shifts and even before I turn around, I know Marcus is on my balcony. Our maker is one of the ancients, who unlike the rest of us, can transport himself anywhere. “What do you know?” I ask, bringing him into view.
He’s tall—at least six-four—with long blond hair and dark eyes, who favors leather from head to toe, his armor he calls it. Those things alone lend to a striking appearance, but Marcus is all-powerful beyond his appearance, a vampire who commands man and beast. You feel the crackle of that energy when he’s present.
“You found her then,” he says softly.
“Found who, Marcus?” I demand, a charge igniting my body.
“You know who, Eli,” he says pointedly.