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35

KITTY

E dward arrived, as usual, in the dead of night.

Kitty arose naked from her bed and slipped on a silk robe to find him at the door. The brim of his fedora tilted low over eyes shadowed already by his prominent brow, so that they looked like black holes. That did nothing to lessen the appeal of his chiseled face, however, or his broad shoulders, or his smell, which was unlike the scent of any other man. He smelled of cloves and cinnamon and… something else Kitty had never smelled before. Whatever it was, it sent a prickling of gooseflesh across every inch of her body.

“Well, look who that cat dragged in,” she teased.

He did not smile. One thing Edward did not have was a sense of humor. That was normal for an officer of the Secret Intelligence Bureau—the SIB—they were famous for lacking personalities. Edward took that to a new extreme. But, she’d learned over the past year she’d been working with him, Edward had other positive attributes.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked.

“I’m thinking about it,” she said. He bared his teeth a little—but she didn’t think it was a smile. “By all means, come in,” she said drily.

He brushed past her, set a briefcase down on the dining table and clicked open the clasps. Kitty sauntered to the counter where a glass carafe of whiskey sat.

“Drink?” she asked, already pouring.

He sat at the table, opened a manilla envelope, and examined the papers inside.

She turned to him holding two glasses expectantly.

When he continued to ignore her, she stepped up to him and threw the drink in his face.

For a moment, he remained perfectly still. She started to laugh. How bedraggled he suddenly looked, his tie sopping, a drip of liquor hanging from the end of his nose. But when he slowly turned his head to look at her, the coldness in his eyes made the laughter die in her throat.

“Don’t come into my home and ignore me,” she said, and she downed the other drink, feeling it burn all the way down her throat and into her belly.

Slowly, Edward took the handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today, Mr. Langford?” she asked.

He just watched her. Something about his stillness made her think of a tiger crouching in long grasses, watching its prey. The thought chilled her and turned her on at once.

“Can I offer you something to eat?” she asked. “I have some leftover steak. So rare it’s bloody.”

“I don’t eat steak,” he said slowly.

“Then what do you need?” she asked.

He just kept staring at her with those predator’s eyes and her heart began to flutter.

“I’ve done everything you asked,” she said. “I’ve done photos with that new Silver Wraith. I’ve written the articles you told me to. What now?”

He drummed his fingers on the table, each click of his fingernails like the tick of a clock.

“There have been plans made across the ocean that are now approaching completion,” he said at last. “A trap is about to be sprung. If anyone makes it out of the Maethalia capital alive, it will be a miracle.”

Kit frowned. “What about Charlie? You said his messages have been helpful. You’ll ensure his safety, won’t you?”

Suddenly Edward did smile, but it was far from a comforting sight. An expression of happiness on his austere, perfect face, seemed about as natural as seeing his skin turn inside out.

“It is a very dangerous world, Kitty Rowley,” he said. “It’s impossible to ensure anyone’s safety. Even yours.”

Suddenly he was on his feet, standing with preternatural speed, his chair screeching back.

Kitty felt lightheaded with excitement—and fear. The last time Edward had spent the night came back to her as a blurred, warped, fragmented memory, half fantasy, half nightmare. The pleasure and the terror of that night had been so extreme that she’d told herself ever since that it must have been a dream. But here he was again. Terrible memories bubbled up from her subconscious, so vivid she wanted to scream and run. Edward holding her down with impossibly strong arms. Biting her. Licking her own blood off her breasts. Doing other things. Horrible things. But at the same time, she felt a pulse of hot longing between her legs, throbbing in time with her heart, as strong and insistent as a drum beat.

“The hour of destruction is coming,” he told her. “I must be strong. I must feed. And you must become .”

“I don’t… know if… I want to…” Kitty was trembling too hard to speak.

In the next instant he was on her, so fast she didn’t even have a chance to cry out. He lifted her and bore her into her bedroom. She hit the sheet, breathless as he ripped her robe from her body. His mouth was open, like that of a snake preparing to strike, and he nuzzled his lips across her skin, across one hard nipple, down her taut stomach as she writhed with longing, down to her slick core. His tongue slid up her once, so slow a groan wracked her whole body. She rolled her hips, pressing against him, moaning. Then his teasing mouth slid up her stomach, over her navel, up to her neck.

His pants unzipped and he entered her, so hard and deep and huge she felt impaled, and she cried out in pain as much as pleasure. Then his face was next to hers and she saw his snarling mouth. His fangs.

Not a dream. Not a dream, she thought, panicking. She squirmed, trying to get away, then in the next moment her hands were on his hips, pulling him deeper into her. Pleasure throbbed through her, her mouth falling open.

Then he bit into her neck. Pain went through her like fire and she screamed. But in the next instant the pain was gone, replaced with an intense, radiating feeling of euphoria that was indescribable—like nothing else.

“Stop,” she whispered. “Stop… Never… Never stop.”

And so, he went on. Drinking her, filling her, until the pain and pleasure of it swallowed all meaning and she was lost.