Her heart leapt, but Carmine knew better than to hope, to trust. If anything, the cold look in Atticus’s eyes made her more afraid. She thought she understood how to deal with a man who’d pay her bride price, buthim?There was no telling what he wanted from her, let alone what he’d do next.
She couldn’t rely on him to save her. For all she knew, he was worse than her groom. He could kidnap her, sell her to someone else. Offer her as a broodmare to other vampires. Take her for himself.
It was the oddest thing, the physical reaction she had to that last thought. A flush rolled down from her chest to her toes, and something warm unfurled in the lowest part of her stomach.
Atticus slowly unwound her hair from around his knuckles. When he was done, he skimmed them over her clothed shoulder. That warmth in her stomach grew hotter, bigger, and oddly a little heavier.
Maybe he saw the panic in her eyes. Maybe he understood that a bride couldn’t trust anyone — especially those who claimed to want to help. Whatever the reason, his expression went from terrifying to soft in a heartbeat.
“Easy, doll. I’m not going to let anyone touch you, okay?” He gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. Carmine didn’t understand what he wanted her to do until her back hit the mattress. Usingone hand, he pulled the blankets out from under her and draped them over her legs. He gave the top of her bandaged foot a gentle pat. “Sleep. I’m gonna shower.”
“Okay.” She tracked him as he moved toward the bathroom.
Opening the door, he reminded her, “No running. If you do, I’ll hunt you down, and you’re not gonna like what I’ll have to say when I catch you. Got it?” He cast her one of those stern looks over his shoulder, demanding a response.
Carmine hid the lower half of her face beneath a sheet and curled on her side, her eyes glued to the wide shape of his back, his sturdy waist, the funny way the short bristles of hair on the nape of his neck came together in a triangular shape. Her voice came out whispery when she answered, “Got it.”
And just like that, he gifted her another one of those brilliant smiles. “Thatta girl.”
Chapter Six
He could feelher eyes on him. They were like soft little hands ghosting over his skin, leaving him tense and breathless with every glancing touch. It was a struggle to continue breathing deeply, evenly, as if he were asleep. Her scent coated his tongue and throat. He’d spent half the day trying to categorize it and the other half lightly dozing, afraid that if he slipped into a deep sleep he’d wake up to find her gone.
Cherry.
That was the scent. He’d never had one before, since he was a born vampire and never had the sick urge to put that shit in his mouth, but he’d smelled them. It wasn’t the kind that looked radioactive, but the dark, bloody cherries he saw floating in black syrup a time or two. Rich and sweet but complex, almost too ripe.
It made himwild.
But not half as wild as the thought of her watching him from the bed with those big eyes, as she slowly peeled the covers back. She’d have to step over him, since he’d slept on the narrow strip of floor wedged between the bed and the kitchenette, with only a blanket and a stiff pillow for comfort. Not a moment later thesoftest sound of her bandaged feet touching the floor by his hip was barely discernible over the low hum of the heating unit.
He was so attuned to her, he could feel the air move when she carefully crept over him. All of his focus was on her — too much, perhaps, because it took him an embarrassingly long time to see the bigger picture and realize she was headed for his gun.
She didn’t make it more than two steps before he jackknifed up into a sitting position and fisted the back of her shirt.
Carmine gasped and stumbled over his legs. Made clumsy by the thick, rubbery bandages on her feet, she went down easy. Atticus caught her around the waist and settled her across his lap. It all happened in less than a handful of seconds, but he saw it unfold slowly. He could feel and hear every one of his heart beats. He watched her turn her head to fix him with a hunted, guilty look. He was fascinated by the silky expanse of her legs as they tangled, went down, and then stretched over his lap.
And then time caught up to him in the same instant as his temper.
His voice was grittier than normal for multiple reasons when he growled, “What did I say, doll?”
She didn’t reply. Carmine sat as still and stiff as a statue in his arms, but her eyes were huge, full of life in that heart-stopping face.
Obviously, she was striking in her ceremonial makeup, but without it… Atticus’s fingers twitched with the urge to smooth the pads over her bare cheeks. Her skin wasn’t the chalky white he assumed it was. It was a rich golden color that paired perfectly with her raven’s wing hair and wide eyes. He guessed her ancestry traced back somewhere to northern Africa or the middle east, but with vampires it was impossible to say for sure.
The vampiric gene pool was a kaleidoscope by necessity. They hailed from all corners of the world and weren’t picky about mates, so long as the urges to feed and breed weresatisfied. For vampires, it was all about prestige. Power. Being the protector or the protected. It was about the strength and ruthlessness of one’s line. How far back could you trace it? How long had you survived a world that was so hostile to their kind?
It was so very easy for a vampire’s line to die out. Breeding was incredibly involved and difficult, not to mention the fact that they lived dangerous lives rife with vendettas and violence. If breeding failed, one could turn a vampire and they would be considered an heir, but turning had an abysmal success rate.
All it would take was one bad generation andpoof!A whole bloodline could vanish.
Atticus doubted Carmine came from a notable bloodline, though. A family who sold her to a crypt was probably about as well off as his own parents were. Not that he cared. His father was a turned vampire sired by another, anonymous turned vampire, which meant his bloodline was a mess and too new to mean anything anyway. He wouldn’t have put stock in that shit even if came from some hoity-toity family, but it was a relief to know he wouldn’t be bringing down the wrath of an old, distinguished line on his head by rescuing Carmine.
Not that being from an unknown line would save her from being coveted, obviously. It wouldn’t matter if she emerged from the gooey center of a landfill, fully formed and stinking. Carmine was a vampire who could carry vampiric offspring. For some folks, that was more valuable than even the most prestigious family name.
And she tried to run off.Again.
He knew he shouldn’t be mad. Carmine didn’t know him, had absolutely no reason to trust him, and in her position, he’d do the same. But logic didn’t take away the vice of fear that squeezed his heart when he imagined her out there in the desert, wandering barefoot until she hit a road. He didn’t even care that she’d been headed for his gun, probably so she could negotiateher way out of the situation or simply to have some protection when she fled.
