Bane's Choice (Vampire Motorcycle Club #1) - Alyssa Day Page 0,59
paused to gulp in a breath. “In the air?”
He stared at her for what felt like a long time. “You’re not at all what I expected,” he finally said.
Right there, right before his eyes, her excitement started to fade. She released his shirt and moved back then turned to leave the car. “Yeah,” she said sadly. “I get that a lot.”
He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back against him. “You’re far, far more wonderful than I could ever imagine a human to be,” he breathed into her ear, not resisting the opportunity to kiss her neck.
The scent of her skin and the pulse of the blood racing through her veins combined into a powerful aphrodisiac, driving him to take. To possess. He clenched his jaw against the urge and forced himself to relax his grip.
He realized he cared about not frightening her, when he’d cared about so little for so long; the epiphany shone like a jewel in his mind.
In his heart? Surely not.
She turned to look at him, her beautiful ocean-blue eyes sparkling again. “Really?”
“Really.”
“So, about falling asleep earlier…”
He motioned to her to precede him out of the car. “Giving enough blood to effect the Turn in someone is very draining.”
She snorted out a laugh. “I see what you did there. Draining. Vampire puns, for the win.”
“I didn’t actually intend that,” he said, chuckling. “You must be good for me.”
“Well. I know how you can thank me,” she said, flashing a saucy grin. “You can take me flying.”
“Maybe not right now.”
“Fair enough. I need to stop by the hospital, go home, and get some food and sleep, and then get my medical bag and come back to see if I can do anything for Mr. Evans. If you—”
Bane slammed the car door behind him, his vision starting to haze into a red sheen. She could not leave him.
She must not leave him.
“No.”
Her brows drew together. “What do you mean, no? No to which part. No to flying? That’s okay, but—”
“No to all of it,” he commanded, putting his hands on her arms and using his most powerful mental push.
She stared at him for several seconds and then backed away. Then she put her arms straight out in front of her body and started walking jerkily toward the door to the house, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open.
“Yesss, Master,” she droned, jerking her head back and forth.
He froze. He’d never encountered such a reaction. What had he done? Had his push been too hard? Had he permanently damaged something in her mind?
She made a sound, and he realized she was choking. He’d broken her. He’d broken this human—this woman—who’d come to mean so much to him in such a short time.
He raced over to take her into his arms but stopped short when he realized that she wasn’t choking at all.
She was laughing.
At him.
Doubled over laughing, in fact.
“Oh, oh. Oh, Bane,” she gasped, still laughing. “What, did you think that you’d zombiefied me?”
Before Ryan, nobody but Meara had dared to laugh at him for three hundred years, and this woman did so—openly—again and again.
And he liked it.
Warmth swept through him, threatening to dissolve the block of ice he called a soul. Threatening to offer him a chance at the most terrifying thing in the world.
Hope.
He suppressed the smile trying to break free and instead, pretending that she’d injured his dignity, he brushed past her to open the door.
“Zombies don’t exist,” he informed her, using his haughtiest voice.
In response, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him right on the mouth. “Oh, honey. You’re priceless. If you could have seen your face.”
Still laughing, she entered the house, calling out a hello to Mrs. C, who was walking up the stairs with a load of laundry. Bane’s housekeeper stopped and handed Ryan a bundle of clothing, shooting Bane a scandalized look, probably due to the buttonless, beltless way he’d brought Ryan back.
Bane just stood and watched them, and then he slowly brought his hand to his mouth to touch his lips. She’d laughed at him.
She’d kissed him.
She’d called him honey.
He realized, standing stock still in the doorway from his garage, of all places, that he would kill for this woman. He’d kill to protect her. He’d kill to keep her. His vision flared red again—just for a moment—and then subsided.
He knew what he wanted. What he must have.
Now, it was all about strategy.
…
Hunter was worse.
Not only was he not in the trance-like state he should have been in, he