Bound by Her Passion Read online

  “The cop’s in love with her,” Gray says. “Head over fucking heels.”

  My chest tightens. I’d already guessed as much from the human’s body language—and hers—but hearing it in words… I dig the razor under my nail to transfer the pain.

  “That cop is infatuated with Selina—” Gray winks “—just like you are.”

  “What?” I turn away from him as rage rises inside me. He’s right, but I’m not going to admit it. Still, I can’t bring myself to deny it, either.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asks.

  I shake my head, without turning back.

  “How did you end up with that asshole Xavier? You don’t seem that stupid.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Sorry, mate. But I do want to know. It’s important.”

  “What’s it to you?” I drop down to sit on the roof, my legs dangling over the edge.

  Gray sits down beside me, making it even easier for me to push him off, and my arms twitch with the desire, but it’s not worth the effort.

  Unless… If he broke enough bones in the fall, maybe a stake-wielding cop could finish him off before he healed.

  “If Xavier’s after Selina, we need to know everything we can,” Gray says. “In fact, we’re hoping you might help with that.”

  “Who is we?”

  “Me, friends of mine. Friends of Selina’s. We’re looking for Xavier’s so-called palace.”

  I spin toward him. “Do not let Selina go anywhere near Xavier.” Rage and shame tremble inside me along with memories of that dungeon.

  I didn’t participate in the horrific things that happened to Selina, but I didn’t do nearly enough to stop them, either.

  From the first day she arrived at court, my urge to protect her was stronger than it had been for Xavier’s previous playthings, but soon my protective urge turned into a driving need.

  And then once I had a taste of her blood… I close my eyes as the memory storms through me. Since that small taste, I can’t think about anything except making her mine, keeping her safe—and killing Xavier.

  “What do you want to know?” I ask. They’d better not do anything to put her at risk.

  “How did you end up with Xavier?”

  “You were right. I am stupid. Or was back then.”

  “When was that?” Gray asks.

  “Not long after I transitioned. I was a mess.” I rub the scar on my cheek. “Mess before I transitioned, too.” I shake my head, thinking back to the trash heap of a man I became in Vietnam. And the literal trashcan I landed in once I came back.

  “When did you transition?” he asks.

  “Early seventies.”

  “Nineteen seventies?”

  I nod.

  “Hey!” Gray claps me on the back. “We’re almost twins! I was late sixties.”

  I glare at him and he raises his palms toward me.

  “How did you get those scars?” he asks.

  “Vietnam.”

  “That must have been tough. Wow. Sorry, man.”

  Yeah, I bet you’re sorry. Rich assholes like him let the rest of us get maimed and killed, then treated us like garbage or worse once we got home.

  “How’d you get out of the draft?” I ask him.

  “I’m British,” Gray replies. “Or at least I was. Don’t know what I am now.”

  Explains his fucking pretentious accent.

  “I was in Morocco when I got turned,” Gray adds.

  “Am I supposed to give a shit about that?”

  “Just making conversation.” He leans back onto his elbows and looks up into the night sky. “Was Xavier your Maker?” He glances at me sideways, almost like he suspects I’m still with Xavier.

  “Transitioned in Vietnam.”

  “You’re kidding.” He straightens, obvious curiosity in his posture, in his voice. “Our side or theirs?”

  “Nothing like that. It was in the hospital. I thought she was a nurse.”

  “Gives a whole new meaning to donating blood, I guess.”

  I swallow a laugh, reminding myself that I hate this vampire. “Her name was Binh. She was beautiful. Kind.”

  “Kind…but she turned recovering patients into vampires? Against their will?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” I draw a long breath at the memory. “She talked to me about it, first. My burns were terrible. Over ninety percent of my body. I was in constant pain.” I close my eyes. Some burns had healed, that’s why I still have scars, but if she hadn’t turned me I wouldn’t have survived. Maybe that would have been better.

  Binh explained how it would work. How I’d never fully heal from all my burn scars, but how my pain would go away. How I’d live forever—unless I was staked or burned again.

  “Where is she now?” he asks. “Binh?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Sorry, man. How were you separated?”

  “I got shipped home.”

  “How did that work, exactly?”

  “I was reported dead and shipped home in a box. Binh set it up. She was supposed to come with me, but she got caught trying to break into my coffin.” My heart nearly collapses at the loss. I loved Binh. Not like a lover, but like a friend, almost like a mother.

  “How did you get them to think you were dead, versus…”

  “Versus a vampire?”

  He nods.

  “Binh gave me herbs that slowed my heart rate, cooled my skin. She organized the whole thing. Made sure I’d never hit sunlight.”

  “And once you were back in the US? I assume you were buried in a military cemetery?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Got out of the coffin before that. But then I was alone, lost, confused. I’d never even fed without Binh’s help. Had no idea how to survive as a vampire.”

  “That must have been tough.” The vampire’s eyes show compassion, but not pity, which I appreciate. For an uptight super-rich asshole he’s not so bad.

  “It would be even worse these days, like it was for Selina.” My voice breaks and I cough to cover it up. “Humans didn’t know we existed back then.”

  “Those were the days, my friend.”

  “Not for me.” Every memory of the early days when I arrived back in the US is a nightmare.

  “How did you end up here? In Toronto? With Xavier?”

  “It was fall, so I headed north. Figured the fewer hours of sunlight the better.” I shake my head at my stupidity. “’Course shorter winter days just means more hours of sunlight in the spring and summer.”

  “The Earth does have that pesky tilted axis thing.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, one night I got into a brawl. To tell the truth, I got into a brawl most nights. I fought humans, other vampires. Anyone who looked at me.”

  Fake frowning, Gray lifts his fists like an old-fashioned boxer. “Should I raise my dukes?”

  “Jury’s still out on that.”

  He laughs.

  I don’t. “Santos, Xavier’s scout, saw me fight one night. He’s the same asshole who found Selina.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. That’s pretty much the story. Santos took me to Xavier’s court.” I draw a long breath. “Xavier was an asshole—that was obvious from day one. But down there I had shelter from the sun and it was easy to feed.”

  “How did you all feed down there?”

  “Mostly runaway teens.”

  “Down there willingly?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “None were there willingly. Not at first. The ones who did figure out where they were—some of them thought it was a big adventure, goth fantasy fulfillment or something. I dunno. The blood slaves down there are treated okay, I guess.” Most of them. “But the prettiest ones…” My throat closes at the memories of things I saw, things I didn’t stop. Girls and boys used as sex toys. Bled beyond what they had to give.

  “Some don’t live long,” I tell Gray. “A few get turned. So
me die in that process. Most of them are just used for food until they’re too pale and anemic to be fun, then they’re put out like garbage.”

  “Released?” he asks, a hopeful look flashing over the horror that landed there during my story.

  I shake my head. “Can’t take enough of their memories away. Even if we could, there’d be too many questions.”

  “So…”

  “Killed. Fucking murdered.”

  “By you?” He pulls back a little, just enough so I notice.

  “Nah. Garbage man was below my pay grade.”

  “You got paid?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  He half grins. “So, other than Santos, who in the so-called court gets to go above ground and into the city?”

  “Officially, only Santos and Philippe. They’re the scouts. I followed them, though. Figured out most of the routes.”

  “Why doesn’t everyone do that?”

  “Because of me.” I shrug. “Because of what Xavier would make me do to them if they got caught.”

  “But you got out.”

  “I’m not afraid of me.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  He nods, clearly putting most of the pieces together and searching for missing ones to fill the holes. “Once you knew how to get out, why did you ever go back, if you hated Xavier so much?”

  Isn’t that the million dollar question… It’s something I’ve thought about often, but never figured out. “After living on the streets,” I tell him. “I guess I liked having someone in charge—like back in the army.” It’s the first time I’ve put it together that clearly.

  Gray could have a career as a psychologist. For all I know, he does, or did.

  Gray turns toward me. “And down there, you didn’t need to fight all the time.”

  I chuckle. “You’d think, right?” I shake my head. “Pretty sure I was addicted to violence. Beating the shit out of other vampires is how I landed a spot in Xavier’s Guard. How I rose to the top. Earned the king’s trust—”

  “He’s not a king.”

  “He was our king and I did his bidding.” For the most part.

  “Like torturing anyone who didn’t want to fuck him?” Gray’s voice is cold, angry. And I can’t blame him.

  Looking down to the roof’s tar, I dig the razor under my index finger’s nail. “I did what I could to protect her—all of them—from the worst.”

  “Selina says you were the worst.”

  I shake my head slowly. “She assumed that. They all did. Everyone in the fucking court.”

  “And you let them.”

  I raise my chin. “I sure as fuck did. When everyone thinks you’re a monster—”

  “You can get away with not being one.” Gray finishes my sentence.

  I nod. This prick gets me—at least a little—and I can’t remember the last time I felt that. If I ever did it was so long ago I barely recognize the sensation of being seen, understood.

  Last time had to have been back in the war, some of the men in my platoon, or maybe Binh? But with her it wasn’t the same. The main thing Binh understood was my pain.

  “Where are you living now?” Gray asks.

  I shrug.

  “I’ve got a big house.”

  “No fucking kidding.”

  “Listen, I’ll have to talk to the others, but—”

  What he’s saying sinks in. “You want me to crash at your pad? You’re kidding, right?” The idea is both horrifying and the best thing I’ve ever heard. To be that close to Selina. Better able to protect her…

  But to live in a fancy house like that, all civilized and shit. I bet Gray serves tea and crumpets twice a day.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “Because I’m serious. It’s my house, but since Rock and Selina are living there now, I want to clear it with them before I make the offer official.”

  I nod, the idea starting to surround me, like a heavy coat in winter. “Are you…” My heart rate accelerates. “Which one of you is her mate?”

  “Mate?” Gray laughs. “Neither of us.” His expression turns serious. “Speaking of mates, Selina said there was a vampire priest in Xavier’s court. That true?”

  I nod.

  “A real one?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “But he performed mating ceremonies, combined blood in a sacred vessel?”

  I nod. “It all seemed like fake shit to me. A cheap magic show.”

  “Probably.” Gray’s brow furrows.

  I lean back. “But the only marriage ceremonies I saw that failed were the ones where Xavier tried to mate with Selina.”

  “Interesting. Look.” Gray leaps to his feet and points ahead. “The cop’s leaving O’Malley’s. Alone.”

  Chapter 25

  Selina

  “I doubt she’ll go for it, but it’s up to Selina,” Rock says to Gray as I enter the kitchen. Warm light from the setting sun radiates through the protective-glass window and bathes the men in a delicious glow.

  “What’s up to me?” I lean onto the center island.

  The two men smile as they turn toward my voice, both wearing expressions that tell me I’m the best thing they’ve seen all day. I don’t think I could ever get sick of this—this potent feeling of being wanted, of belonging.

  Stronger emotions swirl under that surface, combining to amplify the warmth inside me, but the most powerful, the emotion buoyed to the top is the unmistakable sensation that I belong here, belong to these men and they to me.

  And for a girl who’s never belonged anywhere or with anyone, not even in her mother’s home, the feeling simultaneously anchors and lifts me off the ground.

  First I kiss Gray, who’s closer, then Rock, who literally lifts me off my feet as we kiss and then sits me down on the island.

  “I’ve got to get to the bar.” Hands spanning my waist, Rock presses another kiss against my forehead. “I’m gonna let Gray talk to you about this solo.”

  “Some backup you are,” Gray says with faux anger.

  “Hey, it’s your idea.” Rock chuckles. “And like I said, it’s up to her.” He kisses my hand, then leaves the room.

  My eyes follow Rock until he disappears, and when I turn back, Gray’s staring out the window, tension in his back as he grips the edge of the ceramic farmhouse-style kitchen sink. “What’s up?”

  “Coffee?” he asks as he turns.

  “Sure.”

  He grabs two mugs from an open shelf above the counter and the heady scent of fresh coffee fills the room as he pours the dark liquid from the stainless steel carafe of his fancy coffee maker.

  He takes a quick sip. “It’s a bit strong. Want cream or sugar today?”

  “Stop stalling.” I reach out a foot to block his path as he tries to pass me to reach the refrigerator. “You know I take it black.”

  He sets both mugs down on the island counter beside me and then grabs the leg I extended, running his hand along the outside of my thigh. His hand rests on my hip as he parts my legs and steps between them, bending to kiss me again—a long, slow, coffee-scented kiss that almost succeeds in melting me into the counter and distracting me from whatever it is we need to discuss.

  Scooping his hands under my thighs, he tugs me against him.

  My sex makes contact with the strong form of his body, and I almost relent. Reluctantly I push against his shoulders. “What’s going on, Gray?”

  He steps back to lean against the sink opposite me, and I take a sip of my coffee, loving the immediate hit of caffeine that races through me. Caffeine is different since my transition, its effect faster and stronger but quickly extinguished with no lasting impact. I could drink coffee all day.

  He takes a sip of his coffee too. “I had an interesting chat last night.”

  “With who?”

  “Pike.”

  At his name, my body experiences a rush very different from the caffeine hit—much stronger a
nd incredibly confusing. Fear and lust battle for control inside me.

  “And?” I ask, my voice shaky. Whatever I’m feeling, my heart is beating too quickly, and I take another sip of caffeine to give the symptom an excuse—at least for a few seconds.

  Gray rakes back his long dark flop of hair and sets his coffee cup down next to the sink. “I might as well cut to the chase.”

  “That would be good.”

  “I invited Pike to move in here.”

  “What?”

  Coffee splashes onto my thigh and Gray takes my cup from me and presses his hand over the scalding damp spot on my leg. “You okay?”

  “Why?” My voice is smaller than I’d like, almost breathless, so I gather my wits. “What were you thinking, Gray? You know what he did to me.”

  “That’s the thing, princess.” He strokes my thighs and steps back between them. “I don’t think he did.”

  “Did what?”

  “Any of the things that you think he did.”

  “You don’t believe me?” I lean away, flashing back to the last wedding ceremony, how Pike tugged on that leash, making me so aroused I almost came just from walking, and then how his fingers pressed inside me at Xavier’s command, in front of the entire court.

  At the memory, I’m wet. My sex throbbing with a need I resent. A need I can’t begin to explain or understand.

  That moment was humiliating, but it was nothing compared to all the other things Pike did to me while I was captive—horrible, sadistic things. The weeks and months I was left blindfolded in that dungeon, strapped down and fucked roughly.

  And the cruel laughter when I cried out at the pain of penetration, how one of them would force a dick into my throat to quiet me as I fought my body’s unwanted reactions to the aggressive intrusions.

  Pike and his buddies would take breaks to let me recover, just so they could laugh about how painful I found the initial thrusts once they started up again.

  It became like a competition—who could drive into me harder and deeper after I healed, and sometimes they’d used a steel dildo instead of, or along with, their own cocks.

  I’ve shared some of these horrors with Gray. He knows what I suffered. “Why would you even suggest this?” I ask through my anger and shock.