couldn’t do in front of them. They’d taken turns hanging back, but except for the one time he’d heard a crash in her room, she’d been eerily quiet.
The day he’d threatened to break her door down had been a crossroads for him. When he’d said it, he’d meant it. He’d been damn sick of her running away from him when he knew she was as attracted to him as he was to her. But when she’d spit back, absolutely no softening in her voice, he’d wondered what the hell he was doing. What the hell he hoped to gain from breaking down her defenses.
No, he couldn’t deny that he lusted after this female. He’d wanted her from the second she’d straddled his lap and shoved a gun in his face, hissing and cussing a blue streak in order to hide the fear and pain inside her.
But he’d finally forced himself to accept it—his attraction to her was as fruitless as it was inexplicable. She couldn’t be touched without experiencing pain. That was actually the least of her problems. Even so, Caleb had sworn never to be the cause of an innocent’s pain again.
Ever.
That said, he’d be damned if he’d let someone hurt her when he could stop it.
He turned to the vamp. “Get lost. I need to talk to Wraith.”
The vamp, who was taller than him by a good three inches, wasn’t easily intimidated. “Wraith’s just fine. Real fine. I’m not going anywhere.” Once more, his hand moved to caress Wraith’s neck.
Quick as a snake, Caleb grabbed the vamp’s wrist and shoved him back. The vamp growled and his eyes flashed red.
Conversation in the ballroom stilled. Dancers paused. The air in the room grew tense. The vamp tsked. “You’re going to regret that . . .”
Casually, Wraith glanced at him. “You heard him, Colt. Leave us. Please.”
Shock made Caleb’s head jerk back. He’d never heard Wraith say “please” before. He’d also never heard her speak to someone in such a familiar, intimate tone. Rage spiraled through him. When he saw Colt clench his fists and unsheathe his fangs, Caleb stepped in front of Wraith, more than willing to give the vamp what he was asking for.
The vamp’s eyes followed Caleb’s movement. He lifted a brow and smirked. Instantly, his eyes faded to their normal color, pitch black with silver pupils. “We’ll talk later, Wraith,” the vamp crooned. He swept his hand toward her. “Good luck, my friend.” With a mocking smile, he left.
Wraith didn’t even bother watching his exit. Hands on hips, she scowled at Caleb. “What the hell are you doing, O’Flare?”
He got in her face, the tips of his shoes nearly touching hers. “You always let vamps caress your throat despite the fact you don’t have any blood to give?”
She stood her ground and arched a brow. “It wasn’t blood he was after.”
Taking a deep breath, he stepped back. Slowly, the conversation and music started again.
Caleb ran a hand through his hair. “He had his hands on you,” he bit out. “He was hurting you.”
She looked stunned, then snorted and rolled her eyes. “I hurt all the time. Some types of ‘hurt’ are better than others,” she drawled, “and there are plenty of males willing to make me hurt good.”
Her words gave him pause. He’d heard the stories about wraiths and their attraction to BDSM. He supposed it was a testament to the strength of a creature’s sex drive—how they wanted sex, even if pain came with it. But in the case of wraiths, there was no kink involved—they simply had no other choice.
He remembered touching her throat just before they’d left for North Korea, examining the old scars from the paralyzing collar she’d been forced to wear so some freak could experiment on her. He’d been careful. Gentle. But even that fluttering touch had caused her pain. No matter how she tried to dismiss it now, he’d seen her tremble and flinch away from the vamp’s touch, too.
She obviously took his silence for disbelief. “What, you don’t think men have touched me
The day he’d threatened to break her door down had been a crossroads for him. When he’d said it, he’d meant it. He’d been damn sick of her running away from him when he knew she was as attracted to him as he was to her. But when she’d spit back, absolutely no softening in her voice, he’d wondered what the hell he was doing. What the hell he hoped to gain from breaking down her defenses.
No, he couldn’t deny that he lusted after this female. He’d wanted her from the second she’d straddled his lap and shoved a gun in his face, hissing and cussing a blue streak in order to hide the fear and pain inside her.
But he’d finally forced himself to accept it—his attraction to her was as fruitless as it was inexplicable. She couldn’t be touched without experiencing pain. That was actually the least of her problems. Even so, Caleb had sworn never to be the cause of an innocent’s pain again.
Ever.
That said, he’d be damned if he’d let someone hurt her when he could stop it.
He turned to the vamp. “Get lost. I need to talk to Wraith.”
The vamp, who was taller than him by a good three inches, wasn’t easily intimidated. “Wraith’s just fine. Real fine. I’m not going anywhere.” Once more, his hand moved to caress Wraith’s neck.
Quick as a snake, Caleb grabbed the vamp’s wrist and shoved him back. The vamp growled and his eyes flashed red.
Conversation in the ballroom stilled. Dancers paused. The air in the room grew tense. The vamp tsked. “You’re going to regret that . . .”
Casually, Wraith glanced at him. “You heard him, Colt. Leave us. Please.”
Shock made Caleb’s head jerk back. He’d never heard Wraith say “please” before. He’d also never heard her speak to someone in such a familiar, intimate tone. Rage spiraled through him. When he saw Colt clench his fists and unsheathe his fangs, Caleb stepped in front of Wraith, more than willing to give the vamp what he was asking for.
The vamp’s eyes followed Caleb’s movement. He lifted a brow and smirked. Instantly, his eyes faded to their normal color, pitch black with silver pupils. “We’ll talk later, Wraith,” the vamp crooned. He swept his hand toward her. “Good luck, my friend.” With a mocking smile, he left.
Wraith didn’t even bother watching his exit. Hands on hips, she scowled at Caleb. “What the hell are you doing, O’Flare?”
He got in her face, the tips of his shoes nearly touching hers. “You always let vamps caress your throat despite the fact you don’t have any blood to give?”
She stood her ground and arched a brow. “It wasn’t blood he was after.”
Taking a deep breath, he stepped back. Slowly, the conversation and music started again.
Caleb ran a hand through his hair. “He had his hands on you,” he bit out. “He was hurting you.”
She looked stunned, then snorted and rolled her eyes. “I hurt all the time. Some types of ‘hurt’ are better than others,” she drawled, “and there are plenty of males willing to make me hurt good.”
Her words gave him pause. He’d heard the stories about wraiths and their attraction to BDSM. He supposed it was a testament to the strength of a creature’s sex drive—how they wanted sex, even if pain came with it. But in the case of wraiths, there was no kink involved—they simply had no other choice.
He remembered touching her throat just before they’d left for North Korea, examining the old scars from the paralyzing collar she’d been forced to wear so some freak could experiment on her. He’d been careful. Gentle. But even that fluttering touch had caused her pain. No matter how she tried to dismiss it now, he’d seen her tremble and flinch away from the vamp’s touch, too.
She obviously took his silence for disbelief. “What, you don’t think men have touched me
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