He smiled cruelly, lifting to press his erection against my belly. His eyes dared me to feed him, but I wasn’t stupid enough to allow him that part of me. I may not like that he had to feed from someone else, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it bothered me, either. I turned to stare at the floorboard, dismissing him the best I could manage with him looming over the top of me, watching me closely.
His hands lifted, and he peered over the edge of the seat before lowering back down, grabbing my chin between his fingers while he smiled. Before I could judge his intentions, he claimed my lips in a bone-melting kiss that turned me inside out and left me more confused than I was already. Rhys closed his eyes, resting his forehead against mine.
The Humvee rolled to a stop, and Rhys lifted out of the car, turning to issue orders to the people milling about in front of the mansion. I watched him walking toward the house while a knight moved in beside me. I was silently escorted into the house and escorted up the stairs to the room I’d stayed in last night. I scanned the wreckage and moved toward the bed, pulling the pillow over my head as I screamed in frustration. I almost wished for Winchester to find me, just so I could work out against her, burning the pent-up need and energy that was building every moment I was stuck here with Rhys.
Chapter Twelve
Hours of nonstop grotesque and obnoxious screaming came from the room beside mine. Rhys’s feeder screamed his name so loudly that my head actually ached from her cries, and if I never had to hear his name again, I’d be happy. After the fourth hour of listening to flesh meeting flesh, and her screaming she was coming, I abandoned my room.
I hated the idea of him feeding from someone else. It also bothered me that I would even care that he was with someone other than me. He was my sworn enemy, and I wasn’t here willingly. So why the hell would I care? I didn’t; I told myself. I’d said it a million times in the last couple of hours. I’d said it the moment he opened that door, staring at me with a look questioning if I’d join him or not. I’d verbally told him to get fucked, and he had. So what if he literally had to fuck to heal? It wasn’t my problem. That was what I repeated inside my head like a mantra.
“Miss, you can’t be in here,” a woman called from the doorway of the room where I stared at the portraits of the men in armor. Her eyes held mine before she noted that I peered at the pictures inside the room, smiling. “It’s the Van Helsings,” she pointed out, using her cane to move closer to me.
I took in her silverish-blue hair and aged form. Laugh lines had added character to her face and made her aging process look more beautiful. Her body, while tired, moved surprisingly fast toward me with a soft look in her eyes while she peered up at the family adorning the walls.
“All of them?” I queried, not wanting to return to my room.
“Yes, miss,” she said, pointing to the largest picture with pride burning in her soft grey stare. “That’s them together, painted with their parents.”
The picture was of thirteen sons that stood around a small, petite woman with red hair and glowing blue azure eyes. Next to her was a man I assumed was her husband and the boys’ father, considering the dark hair and skin that spoke of eastern heritage.
They looked happy in the picture, carefree. Rhys’s hand was on his mother and father’s shoulders, but his mother stared at Cole with visible love. Thirteen Van Helsing sons around her, and she stared at her youngest with the love of a mother, who probably had the patience of a saint to handle that asshole.
“This one is right before they lost her,” the woman pointed to another portrait, nodding to one where Rhys stood off in the background, while another of his brothers stood behind their parents. The brother looked cold, merciless, and bitter. His eyes burned with malice as he stared at the artist. “Mikel. He’s the one you’re looking at. He’s a cold-hearted man, but he adores his family.”