Demon Night

anything else, or did he have to deliberately look into her? And could she get into him?
    But even if she could, it wouldn’t be right to go in without asking; and if he’d wanted her to know, he’d have projected as he had before.
    And the blood told her some: grief, arousal, and determination sang louder than anything else, and all of them ran deep.
    As deep as her own. Lust and love and thirst…
    Thirst. It struck quick, hard, disguised and gathering below her sexual need, then tearing its way through. She’d been feeding softly, leisurely, but now she was sucking down great drafts, her fingers digging into Ethan’s shoulders, and she had to have him in her in her —
    “Charlie.” Ethan panted her name. “You’re all right. I swear I won’t—”
    But the rest was lost beneath the shriek that ripped into her mind.
    She couldn’t scream. Tears slipped from her eyes, and she tried to brush them away before Ethan felt them, but her hands were tugging her pajamas, tearing them, her fingers fanning and flaming the cold fire burning inside her.
    Until she came apart, ecstasy splintering and flinging her wide—and agony followed every sharp piece.
    When she pulled herself together, she was soft and dull, with Ethan ebbing into her. His palms ran gently over her hair, down the damp skin of her lower back. Her shirt was gone again. She slid her fingers from the wetness between her legs, her fangs from his throat, and licked the puncture wounds as they closed. Only a few crimson drops marred the pillowcase.
    “Ethan.” She couldn’t look at him. “Are you all right?”
    His hands found hers, clasped them tight. A now-familiar harmony vanished from her mind; she hadn’t noticed his psychic presence until he slipped away.
    “No, Miss Charlie.” His voice was ragged around the edges. “I don’t reckon I am.”

    Ethan waited until he heard the spray of the shower before slipping out of the room. He didn’t like leaving her alone, but he couldn’t put this off—and he wasn’t going to feed her again until he had some answers.
    Charlie had called whatever she’d been hearing painful.
    Ethan hadn’t heard it, but he’d felt it when he’d pushed his way into her head—and it hadn’t been anything like what he’d expected. “Painful” was the stab of a knife, a gunshot wound.
    Not his skin slowly being flayed from his flesh; that was more like torture.
    And it had worsened—not when the bloodlust had grabbed hold of her, as he’d half-expected, but when he’d begun actively resisting the need tearing through him.
    The previous night, she’d said it wasn’t hers—and now he figured she was correct.
    It was his.
    Had it been hindering her transformation? She’d been adjusting in every other way, but feeding was central to a vampire’s existence. And there hadn’t been much good to come out of living as one yet—only loss and pain.
    He stepped into one of the soundproofed communications rooms adjacent to the main offices to make the call, and he’d spoken just a few words when Selah was suddenly in the room with him, her cell phone against her ear.
    “This is so much easier,” she said as she lowered the phone. “What’s the problem?”
    This was about as uncomfortable a topic as he could imagine, but there wasn’t anyone who knew more about being with a vampire than Selah. “Feeding,” he said quietly. “It’s hurting Charlie.”
    A line formed between Selah’s brows. “Are you forcing yourself to submit to her?”
    “No. I’m more than willing.” He drew a deep breath, and he focused on a point over her head. “I’ve heard that when you first fed Marsden, you kept him from…well, from—”
    “Yes,” Selah said, and he felt her studying him. “You’re giving her time.”
    Ethan nodded. “Was it painful for Marsden—you resisting him?”
    “I didn’t resist him,” Selah said. “I kept us from having sex.”
    Ethan frowned and leaned back against a desk, crossing his arms. Most times, he had no trouble understanding Selah. But when feelings and the bed came into a conversation, he figured some women just started speaking a different language. “You want to explain the difference to me? Because I sure ain’t following.”
    “If you resist what the bloodlust is doing to you, you’re going to hurt her.”
    “And if I don’t resist, I’ll hurt her another way.” If not physically, then by destroying the trust between them, breaking the promise he’d made.