A Hunger Like No Other by Kresley Cole

doesn’t—?”
    â€œThen, vampire, you’ll be going with me.”
    *  *  *
    Emma lifted an unsteady hand to her hair and pulled a hank in front of her face. She stared in horror.
    Streaked. By the sun.
    He’d left her to shower and dress, and alone in the bathroom, she gaped at the vivid evidence of how close she’d come to dying. Dropping her hair, she slid off her nightgown and twisted in the mirror to assess her skin.
    It was unharmed now, pale and healed—unlike the last time. She glanced at the back of her hand, growing nauseated. Thank Freya, the memory of her burn was mercifully hazy as usual.
    Though she couldn’t recollect specifics, she’d learned her lesson well, avoiding the sun for nearly sixty-seven years, yet near dawn she’d passed out before she could either escape this Lachlain or beg him to shut the curtains.
    Shivering, Emma turned on the shower and stepped in, avoiding the broken marble. She still sensed his presence from the night before. She could almost feel his hands skimming over her wet skin, his finger pressing full inside her, his powerful body shuddering and tensing as she’d stroked him.
    When she turned in the shower, the water sprayed her sensitive breasts, making her nipples hard— In a flash, the memory of waking under his mouth hit her.
    She’d struck out at him with such violence because she’d been confused and frightened. Yet she’d also been nearer toorgasm than she had in her entire life. She was a weak woman, because for the briefest second the temptation to lie there docile and let her knees fall open to accept his fierce kiss had been nearly overwhelming. Even now she found herself wet.
    For him. She was bewildered by her response. She wondered how she would react to him if he wasn’t debating killing her.
    At least now she knew why he was so savage. Besides clearly having issues , he was a Lykae, considered a ruthless menace by even the lowliest in the Lore. She recalled what her aunts had taught her about them.
    Each Lykae housed a wolflike “beast” inside, like a possession. This rendered them immortal and made them crave and appreciate the elementals: food, touch, sex. But, as she’d seen tonight and the night before, it also could make a Lykae unable to control its ferocity, a ferocity their kind w illingly unleashed during sex, reveling in scratching, biting, and marking flesh in a frenzy. Which had always sounded hellish to Emma—a being cursed with fragility and a deep-seated fear of pain.
    How such a handsome façade could mask an ungovernable animal was beyond her understanding. He was a beast in the form of a fantasy. His body, except for the incongruous leg injury, was nothing short of . . . divine. His hair was thick and straight, a rich, dark brown that she imagined would look golden in the sun. She’d noted that sometime today he’d had it trimmed, and his face was now cleanly shaved to reveal his perfect features. On the surface divine, beneath . . . a beast.
    How could she be drawn to a being that she needed to be running from ?
    Her arousal was involuntary, shaming in a way, and she was glad when the weight of her exhaustion stifled it. She was flagging by the minute, and the idea of driving to Scotland enervated her even more.
    As she slumped against the shower wall, she wondered how Annika was holding up right now. Probably shrieking with worry and fury, ensuring that their hometown of New Orleans got flailed with lightning and that every car alarm in three parishes went off.
    Emma also wondered if she really would’ve jumped. Yes, she thought with a start—if this Lachlain had been the same insane, howling animal of before, if his eyes hadn’t slowly warmed to golden, she would’ve taken her chances.
    And she wondered how he’d hurt his leg and where he’d been “locked away” for so long and by