Page 51

Jericho was no saint.

He pierced her throat.

Sweet ambrosia rolled over his palate. Her sigh of relief feathered his skin, and she melted into him as his venom rushed through her veins. With every beat of her heart, her tension eased, and her muscles softened. He accepted her weight, chest swelling with satisfaction.

Molten waves of decadent energy washed through his system, linking him to Alex’s life force. He bit back a groan. Gods, he could become addicted to her.

It was a connection all vampires made while feeding, something he’d experienced thousands of times and yet, with Alex, it was new. Her essence crashed over him in a tidal wave, filling the void at his center, nourishing his body and soul. Without this, a vampire couldn’t survive. And connecting with Alex—felt like coming home.

The realization struck like a lightning bolt.

This was wrong.

His conscience reared up.You don’t deserve this. She isn’t yours.

He forced his lips from her tempting flesh and steadied her before stepping back.

Expression soft and relaxed, she lifted her heavy-lidded gaze to his face. He imagined it was how she would look after waking in her lover’s bed. He shoved the image from his mind.

“Better?” he managed to ask in a raspy voice.

She nodded and glanced down at the towel wrapped around her torso. The gentle lines of her face drew tight in confusion. Suddenly, she straightened, eyes flaring with awareness. She pulled the towel closer, color blooming in her cheeks.

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder, and she cringed. “The, um, water is still running.”

“I’ll get it.” For a moment, he considered ducking under the frigid spray. Instead, he twisted the knobs.

Water dripped from the bottom of his shirt. Glad for the distraction, he slipped out of his sodden boots and socks. Dragged the wet fabric over his head, then turned and draped it over the shower door.

Alex’s sharp inhale froze him in his tracks. Too late, he realized what he’d done.

Alex staredat the roadmap of scars covering Jericho’s back. Most were concentrated over his shoulders as though he’d been flogged. Shock burned through the dream-like fog his bite had created. This was the reason he’d been reluctant to remove his shirt in front of her.

Bile burned her throat. Who could have hurt him that way? Protective urges shot through her, curling her hands into fists.

He turned from the shower stall and met her concern with a hard glare.

She fumbled for the right words. “Jericho—”

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed,” he snapped in a frigid voice that straightened her spine. His expression grew guarded, brows slamming together like two steel doors, shutting her out. Gone was the gentle man from moments ago.

Questions died on the tip of her tongue.

Stunned at the change, she struggled to tuck the oversized towel under her arms, hoping to preserve the crumbling remains of her modesty. As she attempted to slide off the countertop, Jericho slipped his arms beneath her and scooped her against his chest.

Heat flared in her cheeks. At least the towel was better than being naked. Been there, done that, wished she were wearing the T-shirt.

She wrapped her arm over his shoulder. The raised ridges of his scars pressed against her fingers, and she jerked her hand higher on his neck. If he didn’t want her to see the scars, she doubted he’d appreciate her touching them. Sometimes the deepest scars never healed. And Jericho’s—she was learning—randeep.

He lowered her feet to the bedroom floor and stepped back with a scowl on his face. “You okay?” he asked, watching her in that cautious way men did when dealing with a weepy female.

Mental cringe. Yeah, she deserved that. “I’m fine,” she assured him, dropping her gaze to the neglected polish on her toes.

“Get some rest. We can talk in the morning.” He spun, preparing to leave.

“Jericho.” She started to grab his arm but hesitated.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, shoulders bunched with tension.