Edge of Hunger

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Shifting to his knees, Ian pushed up on his hands, muscles bulging and hard in his arms, and stared down at the tender place where his body joined hers.

“Watch me,” he growled.

She shivered and lowered her gaze, her shock at seeing his possession unmistakable in the thick look of lust that clouded her warm brown eyes. It rushed through him, the destructive power of that look, trashing his control, tearing some kind of violent, primitive sound from his throat. She was tight and he was big, too big to just slide in, no matter how slick she was. He had to put his strength behind it and drive at her, slamming her into the ground, the keening sound of her pleasure making him see red.

With a hoarse groan, Ian lowered himself over her, needing the tight tips of her velvety nipples against his skin, needing to cover her, to own her…and he suddenly realized that they were alone in the forest. The music was gone, the gypsies, the wild celebration—the churning noise replaced by her husky cries and the wet, slapping sounds of his body thrusting into hers. He drove her across the ground with his hips, taking and claiming and letting loose every hard, tight emotion that he’d always kept locked up, hidden away—and then she undid him.

He watched, dazed, as the damp, silken beauty of her mouth curled, lips lifting to form an incandescent smile that lit her up, made her glow, and something powerful and terrifying ripped through him. His control snapped, and he went over the edge, digging one hand around her thigh, lifting her leg up high as he shoved deep…then deeper still, his other hand fisting in her hair, pulling her head to the side. She sobbed, a sound more pleasure and anticipation than pain, and he lost it. His gums burned as he felt the terrifying length of his fangs slip free.

She cried out, stiffening beneath him, but he couldn’t stop. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathed a damp patch of lust against her throat, and greedily sank his teeth into her. Molly screamed, jerking beneath him, and he bit deeper, the ecstasy and bliss instantaneous, hot and thick and sinful.

The warm, rich spill of her blood filled his mouth in a smooth rush, flowing down his throat, and he swallowed hungrily, growling as he pulled against the wound in her neck, dizzy with pleasure at the lusty taste of her. More. He needed more. Working his jaws, he pulled tighter against her, feeding from the small punctures, every inch of his body aware of her flying apart around him in a shattering climax that squeezed his shaft like a clenching, silken fist.

With a snarling cry, he ripped his fangs from her, drugged by her taste, by the evocative sight of her crimson blood dripping down the pale skin of her throat. She gasped breathlessly as he leaned down, dragging his tongue over her flesh, taking the meandering trails of blood for his own, trapping them in his mouth. He lifted his head, staring into her dazed eyes, and for the first time in his life he was completely focused on every mind-shattering detail of the woman beneath him. The rapid quivering of her heart against his. The panting of her sweet breath and the delicate shiver of her hands across his back. She was too small for him. But it was too good, the feeling one he wanted over and over and over.

He was painfully aware that nothing had ever felt so perfect…so right. That no one had ever felt like this. Like his.

Ian shuddered from the dangerous, unsettling thought, already closing himself off even as she blinked up at him, dewy cheeks flushed and so beautiful that it took his breath away. He watched in horror as those bee-stung lips curled up the slightest fraction, her eyes shining as she gifted him with another sweet, shy smile—even after he’d fed from her like a bloody monster—and fear, sick and meaty and rank, sliced through him.

Danger! Red alert! Get the hell out of here, youdumb-ass son of a bitch!

Her mouth opened, small hands clutching at him, and he thought he heard her scream his name in panic as she lost her hold—but in the next instant, he jerked awake, his body drenched in sweat, heart hammering like a staccato drum in his chest, painful and piercingly sharp.

Rolling to his side on the damp sheets of his wrecked bed, he felt his lips pull back over his teeth as he fought to get control of his ragged breathing, to find a slower intake of air that didn’t make his lungs burn, his vision swim. Squinting through his narrowed eyes, he focused on the digital glow of the clock sitting on his dresser, the blinking of the numbers making him think of a bomb slowly ticking its way to detonation.

When the darkness calls, Ian…

Like hell! He had enough to deal with right now! He didn’t need his mother’s words whispering through his brain. Not when he was on the edge and a breath away from losing what little control he could claw on to.

He drew in a deep, desperate breath through his nose, eager for the scent of something clean and fresh, something that could pull him out of the ugliness in his head. But the smell of the room reminded him too much of the acrid taste of fear. And there was no denying that he was afraid—that terror beat through his body like a deafening, rolling wave of thunder.

Visions of blood and lust, of violent sex and ungodly, animalistic hunger, still burned through his mind, but he fought against the waves of memory, focusing on regaining control, slowing his heart…his breathing. Struggling to keep from coming all over his sheets like some green-eared teenage boy in the throes of a wet dream.

Goddamn it! It was her! She’d planted this in his head with her little mind games today. And he refused to think about how he’d felt with her—in her. No way. That was emotional no-man’s-land.

Seconds ticked by that flowed slowly into minutes, while he lay there, struggling for control of his body—fighting the urge to replay the dream in his head, knowing it would destroy him. Send him out on a shaky, treacherous ledge that only she could rescue him from. He sucked in air through his gritted teeth, heavy and hard, welcoming the dull throb beginning to pound through his head, until he suddenly became aware of someone knocking on his door. Loud and rattling, it shook the thin wood within its weathered frame like a lone reed caught in a gale-force wind.

Rolling onto his back, Ian took quick stock of his condition. He was drenched in sweat, his body hot, muscles aching, and a wry look downward showed he was in some deep shit, and it was getting deeper by the minute.

The knocking rattled his door again, sharp and insistent. He threw his legs over the side of his bed, running one shaky hand through his damp hair, trying to throw off the jittery feeling the dream had left in his gut. It was probably Riley, asking for help. Again. Why his brother thought he would want to run off and play Galahad with him, he had no idea. Probably Riley’s attempt to keep an eye on him, making sure he still walked the straight and narrow.

Huh. As if he wanted to go back to the way he’d been before coming to the mountains. Thanks, but no thanks. He was done with living on the edge. Done watching his back 24-7. The constant strain of fighting his way through each day had worn him down and he had no desire to ever return.

Grabbing his jeans from the floor, Ian navigated through the dark rooms of his apartment, hoping it wasn’t his brother…or Kendra. He’d left her a message earlier, just wanting to check on her, after the whacked-out stuff Molly Stratton had said that afternoon.

“Jesus, give me a goddamn minute!” he called out when the knocking grew louder, impatient and strong. Hitching his jeans up over his hips, he closed a few but tons as he reached for the door, pulling it open.

And there she was. Little Miss Molly.

Holy shit. What had been a serious hard-on turned into a burning lead pipe in his jeans, curving high to his left, so that the partly closed denim only just managed to keep him from flashing her his goods.

She still wore her jeans, but the white shirt had been replaced with a soft sage-colored T-shirt. Her braless nipples pressed against the thin cotton, thick and tempting, like hard little berries that he wanted to roll around on his tongue. Ian stared, unable to believe his eyes, wondering for a moment if he was still somehow trapped within the dream.

The silence stretched out, punctuated only by their soughing breaths, until he finally took a step forward. His brain justified moving closer to her as an intimidation tactic, but his cock knew better. He just wanted to be near her. Wanted to watch the soft flush bloom across her fair complexion. Wanted that warm honey scent of her skin in his head. She blinked up at him, pulling that full lower lip through her small white teeth, and his patience snapped. “How the hell did you find me?”

“I asked around.” He struggled to focus on her words and not the husky sound of her voice that seemed to roll down his spine, or the sleep-rumpled look on her freshly washed face—but it was impossible. “A teenager down at the gas station told me you were staying here while you finish your house.”

He ripped his gaze away from the curve of her mouth to glare into those big brown eyes, hazy and soft beneath the glowing moonlight. “Parker needs to learn to keep his mouth shut,” he muttered in a quiet rasp.

Her mouth twisted. “I think he thought I was in trouble, so please don’t be angry with him.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She blinked, startled by his tone. “What?”

“Why did he think you were in trouble?”

“Oh.” Her gaze slid away from his, focusing on his chest, which was bare. He watched, seeing the moment when she realized where she was staring…and the heat crept back up across that flawless skin. But she didn’t look away, and the heat spread into her eyes, the smoldering burn there slamming down into his already aching erection, making him wince. He wanted to rearrange himself, but didn’t want to draw that luminous gaze any lower. That’d be too much.

“Molly!” he snapped, the harshness of his tone making her jump. He snagged that startled gaze as it flew up and growled, “Why did Parker think you were in trouble?”

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled. This time she didn’t look away from his face, keeping her eyes above his broad shoulders, and he almost grinned. “I was…um, upset, when I talked to him a little while ago. But I’m okay now.”

“Upset how?” he demanded, grabbing her chin. He tilted her face into the soft stream of light barely reaching them from the streetlight down on the corner, and could see the sticky trail of tears that had dried on her skin. “You were crying,” he said in an odd monotone. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head, the soft, silken ends of her hair brushing against his wrist. “I was just…emotional. But I’m not hurt.”

He curved his hand around the back of her skull, and made a fist in her hair, pulling her head back so that he could stare down into those deep brown eyes. Her hair was soft, so damn soft. He just wanted to rub his face in it. Feel it on his skin, on his body. Wanted it wrapped around his fist as he made her do things good girls like her never did; which was why he always steered clear of them. He’d realized long ago that he couldn’t do the pretty when it came to sex. His urges ran too dark, too raw, too primitive for the likes of soft women. Hell, just look at the sick stuff he’d been fantasizing about in his sleep!

She claimed she wasn’t hurt, but he refused to think about how he’d been…hurting her in his dream. Fucking her to within an inch of her life on the hard forest floor, sinking his goddamn teeth into the fragile column of her throat.

Drinking her blood.

Hunger clawed at his insides with vicious insistence while he slowly looked her over, feature by feature, and he knew the time for retreat when it came. “If nothing’s wrong, then why the hell are you here?” he grated.

She trembled, and he didn’t know if it was from his look or the harsh sound of his voice. “I’m sorry for barging in on you, but I wanted to…to check on you. I was…worried.”

She’d been worried about him? Something scary and soft shivered through his insides at her strange words, and he let go of her, refusing to acknowledge the pleasure he got out of just touching her, feeling her warm curls sift through his fingers as he pulled away. “Why would you be worried about me?”

She rolled her lips inward, brown gaze zinging from his face, to the hard bulge of his biceps, and back to his chest again, the smooth curve of her cheeks turning red. Her arms wrapped around her middle, as though she was holding herself together. “Because I felt it.”

Leaning against the doorjamb, Ian crossed his own arms and glared at her. “Felt what?”

Her lids lowered, shielding her gaze from him. “Your dream,” she said thickly.

Something inside his gut clenched so hard, he felt the tremor slam through his body like a physical blow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Her gaze flicked up to his. “You…you did something to me.”

Shock gripped him and he uncrossed his arms, his hands fisting at his sides. For a long, tense moment, he stared her down. The energy in him was pumping, making him feel wired, on edge, crawling up his spine, curling around the backs of his ears. He tried to keep it together, but hell, he was creeping himself out. No wonder she was looking at him as if he was some sort of monster from the deep, dark lagoon.

Hell, for all he knew, he was.

Ian worked his jaw, aware that he had to scrape the words out of his throat. “What did you say?”

“You did something to me. In…the dream.” She wet her lips, her blush visible even in the hazy moonlight coming from above, shining around the pale wash of her hair like a halo, making her glow. She looked…soft, like something warm and sweet that you just wanted to wrap yourself around; that you wanted to feel melt over you like a warm summer rain. A sweet piece of candy that you left on your tongue to savor, to enjoy as its flavor trickled down your throat. All sunshine and smiles. Things he didn’t want—things he sure as hell didn’t deserve.

She looked ethereal, surreal…something too good for him to touch, even if she was out of her goddamn mind.

Yeah, and you’re so together, Buchanan. A rock. Justa grounded kind of guy.

He ignored the sarcastic asshole living in his head, and tried to get his mind around what she was saying. Another scam? That had to be it. She was messing with his mind, though God only knew why. What could she want from him? He had nothing to give. Nothing but a screwed-up past and a questionable future. If it was a con, he couldn’t imagine what she hoped to get from it.

As if reading his thoughts, she whispered, “I’m not making this up. And this time, I can prove it to you, Ian.”

He knew he was trying to intimidate her, knew it made him an ass, but he did it anyway. “And what was I doing in your dream, baby? Did I have you tied to my bed, making you beg for it?” He gave a gruff laugh, lifting his brows. “Come on, Molly. Tell me. If anything else, this should prove to be some pretty entertaining bullshit.”

Her mouth trembled, cheeks fiery and warm, eyes glassy and wild with a sheen of moisture, but he knew she wasn’t going to cry. No, she was…turned on, he thought with a sharp, cracking jolt of realization that slammed through him. His words had aroused her as much as they had him.

He watched her head shake from side to side, heard a low, trembling “no” whisper past her pink mouth. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, and it hit him that she looked like a woman who’d just rolled out of bed with a lover. Something aggressive and violent twisted in his stomach. Had she gone out and found some jerk-off to nail tonight, while he’d been alone in his bed, dreaming about her?

“It didn’t happen like that.” Her words came in a rush, and she slumped against the door frame, her body melting against the weathered wood as if she needed it to keep her upright. But her eyes changed, filling with an inner strength that aroused him even more than her shivering innocence, if that was possible.

He wanted to demand who she’d been with but heard himself say, “Yeah? Then just what did I do to you in this dream, Miss Stratton?” He wanted to shake her up, throw her off balance, the same way she’d done to him. “There’s no way in hell I’d get you beneath me and not fuck you. Not-a-chance-in-hell,” he ground out.

“You did,” she breathed softly, the wild look taking her eyes again. “You…we had sex,” she said in a whispery little rush. “But…”

“Yeah? Spit it out, honey.” He grinned and gave her a crude look, letting his inner asshole free. “I’m dying of curiosity here.”

She trembled, hugging herself tighter, her mouth quivering, eyes bright and wide as she stared up at him. She blinked. Then swallowed. “You bit me, Ian.”

He froze, locked into place, while the floor fell out from beneath him. “What did you just say?”

She swallowed again, trembling like a leaf, lifting one hand to press her fingers against the left side of her neck, beneath the fall of her hair. “You bit me…and I can…I can still feel the marks.”

Ian watched, trapped within a thick, oppressive daze, as she slowly pulled her hand away, turning her fingers for him to see. And there, glistening on Molly Stratton’s pale little fingertips was a dark, crimson smear of blood.

CHAPTER FOUR

MOLLY’S HEART POUNDED to a painful beat as she watched Ian come closer, the movement of his body predatory and primal, like an animal’s. He moved in a way that was too natural for a human male, too elemental, all that power and shocking intensity pulsing from him in slow, heated waves that made her want to shiver and melt all at once. She saw his muscles shift beneath the burnished silk of his skin, almost too gracefully for such a big man, as if strength came to him too easily, without effort and dangerously smooth. It reminded her of the way he’d moved over her in the dream.

He reached toward her with one large hand, the callused tips of his fingers scraping her skin, and moved the fall of her hair back from the side of her throat. The second he found the bite marks he’d made, his eyes flared into a hot, wicked blue, then narrowed, staring…unblinking. His breath surged between his slightly parted lips with a rough, uneven cadence.

She wet her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, a wave of chill bumps spreading over the sensitized surface of her body, while inside, chaos reigned. Her heart fluttered wildly like a trapped bird that might burst from her chest with her next breath, the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears like the midnight break of surf against craggy, weatherworn cliffs. The subconscious landscape of her emotions was a dark, gothic setting, complete with smoke-gray skies and thunderous cracks of lightning rumbling like ominous bellows in the distance.

All you need is Shelley’s Frankenstein lurking in theshadows to make you feel right at home.

She shook off the whimsical thought, wishing he’d just say something.

“Unbelievable,” he finally breathed out in a low, stifled rasp. Molly watched the word as it formed on his lips, mesmerized by the shape of his mouth, the texture and hue, something inside of her coming a little undone by the salty, sweet scent of his breath. It sat on her palate like the promise of something forbidden and sweet, like a sin. Pure, perfect temptation. His fingers slid farther beneath her hair, curving around the back of her head, and she stole another quick look up at his eyes to find him watching her, his stare as hot as it was intensely blue.

Oh, God, she silently moaned, while her voice remained frozen, locked inside the prison of her throat.

His gaze moved over her face as if she was something he’d never seen before. Like Adam discovering Eve, he stared at her as though she were some foreign creature. A revelation. A curse. Something he should fear. Something that could destroy him.

“What do you want from me?” he ground out through teeth that were clenched in confusion and some indefinable emotion, his fingers tightening the slightest fraction in her hair. “How the fuck did this happen?”

“I…I don’t know.” Scraping the confession out of a dry throat, Molly became aware of tiny pinpricks of sensation swirling through her system. She could feel its rush through her blood, behind her eyes, pulsing like tender heat in her lobes, against the backs of her knees. Desire, unfathomable and unwanted, and completely inexplicable, considering the circumstances. But there all the same. She couldn’t deny, or ignore, its existence, no matter how badly she wanted to. She felt betrayed by the sheer depth of her reaction, as if lust had mounted a revolt against her common sense.

The sultry summer breeze blew harder, and his scent surrounded her, engulfed her, making her dizzy… making her want. His hand shifted again, slipping lower, curving around the back of her neck, and his skin was too hot, burning her flesh. So alive and warm and impossibly male. She blinked, and suddenly his body was even closer. So close now that his forehead nearly touched hers, their breath soughing together in a hectic, frenzied rush. “No more games. I want an answer, and I want it now. How did this happen?”

“I…I have no idea.” She could tell from his grim expression that he didn’t believe her, and the words rushed up from inside of her like a gasping, swelling burst of frustration and fear. “I swear, Ian. I have no idea how it happened. That’s why I came here. I was worried. I needed to see that you were okay.”

“To see that I’m okay?” he growled, lashes so long and thick they cast shadows against his skin. “Christ, woman. I’m not the one who almost had their fucking throat ripped out.”

A police car came roaring around the corner in the next instant, siren blaring as it sped past the weathered apartment building and into the night. They both jumped, flinching from the jarring screech of the siren’s wail.

Pulling away from her, Ian pushed one rugged hand back through his damp hair, the muscles in his arm and chest coiling and flexing with the action, drawing her eye. “I need a cigarette,” he muttered, turning and disappearing into the darkness behind him. He didn’t slam the door in her face, so Molly assumed she wasn’t being told to leave. He moved deeper into the shadows of the apartment and she followed, pulling the door shut behind her.

Without the light from the street, darkness blanketed the room. The loss of sight made her other senses sharper, the panting sound of her breath filling her ears, the surface of her body so sensitive, it was as if she could feel the shadows against her skin. They slipped over her flesh like tiny, featherlight touches of a fingertip, stroking her cheekbones, her chin, the line of her throat.

Just stay calm. Don’t freak. And for God’s sake,don’t start crying again. He’ll think you’re out of yourmind. Not that he doesn’t think that already.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, Molly squinted against the darkness, unsure of where to walk, until a low glow of light spilled into the murky gloom from a doorway on the far side of the room. Following the light, she found him facing her, one powerful shoulder braced against the far wall beside a window in the small kitchen, head lowered as he lifted his arms to light the cigarette perched between his lips. He’d switched on a small light that shone over the sink, the muted glow too weak to reach the shadowed corners, casting him in a hazy glow of gold.

Slanting a curious look in her direction, he spoke in a graveled, hesitant rumble. “Why did you scream my name at the end? Did I hurt you?”

She moved cautiously into the kitchen and collapsed into one of the pine chairs beside a small table, wishing she’d pulled on something heavier. The chill of the air conditioner seeped through her thin shirt, freezing her to the bone, while Ian stood there half-dressed, his body vital and big, covered with a light sheen of sweat, as if impervious to the cold. “No.”

“Then why the scream?” he demanded, taking a long draw off the gleaming cigarette, the details of the room lost beneath the force of his presence. She had the feeling she could have been surrounded by ravenous predators and still have remained oblivious to the danger, her entire focus centered on the hard, beautiful bulk of Ian Buchanan.

“Answer me.” The harshness of his gritty tone made her flinch. The soft glow of light glinted off the broad width of his shoulders, his skin gleaming like bunched satin, and yet, he was completely untouchable. Like a wild, caged animal. Beautiful, but deadly.

Molly looked away and drew an unsteady breath. “I didn’t want…”

“What?” he snapped, the word lashing with whipcord strength.

A self-conscious shrug rolled across her shoulders, her eyes still focused on a distant patch of his kitchen floor. “I didn’t want you to…leave me there alone.” The confession slipped from her lips without any direction from her brain, startling and unintended. She wanted to snatch back the telling, vulnerable words, but it was too late. He was already absorbing them, working them over in his mind, that dark blue gaze zeroed in on her with ruthless, uncompromising intensity when she sneaked a quick peek at him from beneath her lashes.

“Tell me what you remember.”

She flushed, keenly aware of the heat suddenly rising up beneath her skin, burning in her cheeks. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, every part of her oversensitized, as if she were experiencing everything too keenly. The coolness of the air. The stuttering speed of her pulse. The press of that beautiful blue gaze, the mesmerizing color probably the envy of every woman he’d ever known.

“Molly!” he snapped again.

The words jerked from her lips in rapid succession, beyond her control. “We were in a forest. It was night. You were…different.”

A rough, humorless laugh rumbled up from his throat, and he took another deep pull on the cigarette, his silence making her ramble with the need to fill the uncomfortable space. “We had sex, but you…you didn’t…”