“Fucking Anthony. What happens now?”
“Now I stop dicking around and take the damn territory. Fuck the challenge. I need to find Anthony and kill him.”
“What about Stefano Barranza? You think he’s dropped out?”
Christian shook his head. “I think he’s down in Mexico causing mischief that’s going to bite us in the ass when we’re not looking. It would be easy to forget about him, but that might be just what he’s hoping for.”
“I’ll check around, see if there’s any word on his whereabouts.”
“And I’m going to talk to Natalie.”
“Better you than me.”
“Only me,” Christian said, feeling his possessive instincts flaring bright and hard.
Marc grinned. “I’ll keep an ear out for Alon.”
“I won’t be long.”
Christian entered the twelve-digit security code. The heavy door popped open an inch, and he shoved it the rest of the way. The computer console where Marc worked was silent, no alarms, no flashing message notifications. Nothing had happened during the day that their programming considered worth telling him about. But then, most everyone he’d expect to hear from after last night had been asleep all day, just like him.
He took the stairs two at a time, emerging into the quiet of the upstairs hallway. Natalie’s door was closed, but he could hear the sheets rustling as she tossed and turned, trying to sleep. He knocked, but didn’t wait before opening it. He felt her heartbeat kick up in alarm, and she rolled to the far side of the bed, dragging the covers with her, her eyes wide and staring.
“Natalie.”
“Christian,” she breathed. She dropped face-first into the sheets for a moment, then lifted her head with a relieved smile. “I didn’t think to check the time. The sun’s down?” she asked, then scolded herself. “Well, obviously the sun is down. Duh.”
“Get dressed, chére. We need to talk.”
“Alon?” she asked, and her face lost all of its usual color.
“Alon is fine,” he assured her.
“Then what—”
“Get dressed. I’ll make coffee.” He didn’t wait for her to answer. He closed the door and headed for the kitchen, where he found peace in the routine of using his machine, and was soon enjoying his first espresso. He had no doubt there would be more cups of the dark brew, because this was promising to be that kind of a night. Natalie showed up just a few minutes later. Her face was clean of makeup, her long hair pulled into a neat ponytail, and she wore a pair of loose sweat pants, with a cardigan sweater pulled over a belly-baring T-shirt.
He tried not to stare, as he imagined what was under the sweater. It was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and even that glimpse of flat belly was making him want her. His cock felt heavy, and his fangs ached with the desire for her blood. This wasn’t hunger. He was powerful enough to go days without feeding. This was something else. This was the need to claim his woman. He didn’t want blood; he wanted Natalie’s blood. And then he wanted to fuck her brains out.
Whatever happened next was up to her, however. She was the vulnerable one. If she decided she wanted to go home, he’d do his best to get her there safely, and make sure she stayed that way with no interference from him.
He leaned against the counter, sipping his espresso, and watching over the rim of his cup as she walked into the kitchen. She shuffled right up to him and put her hands on either side of his waist, her eyes big and shadowed with doubt, as if uncertain of her reception. Going up on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his and demanded a kiss.
Christian’s lips curved with satisfaction. Setting his cup on the counter, he wrapped his arms around her back, yanked her against him, and surrendered to the need that had been tightening his chest from the moment he’d opened her bedroom door. Her lips opened willingly beneath his, her tongue warm and delicate as he captured it and sucked hard, before stroking his own tongue over every inch of her luscious mouth.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, because if he didn’t say something, he was going to fuck her right there in the kitchen.
Natalie’s eyes were blurry with desire, which did nothing to ease his straining erection. She smiled sweetly in response to his question, and said, “No, I didn’t. I was worried about Alon, and then you—”
“Alon is no longer your concern.” Christian knew he was overreacting, but he couldn’t stop the hot stab of possessiveness that turned his words into an angry snarl.
She blinked in surprise, then scowled right back at him. “Look,” she snapped. “I know you’re all big macho vampire and everything, but Alon is still my best friend. If he needs anything, I have the right to help him.”
“Really? And what would that be, Natalie? This anything that only you can give him?”
She narrowed her eyes in irritation, lips pursed, thinking hard. “Blood,” she said suddenly, nearly spitting out the single word. But almost as soon as she said it, she slid her gaze away from his nervously. “I mean, if he needs blood, I could—”
Christian shifted his grip to her arms. “You don’t go near him right now,” he growled. “Do you know what happens when a vampire wakes for the first time? There is no thought, no reason, there is only hunger. He would rip out your throat and never blink an eye.”