Nikolai’s skin was fever-warm. He must have fed, he was metabolizing whatever he’d taken that night—blood, or death, or pain, or sex. Was it wrong to be grateful it hadn’t been her? Though God knew she’d done her share of feeding him. Being fed by him.
Danny. Selene tried to slip along the wall away from Nikolai, but he pinned her in place without even trying. He was being gentle, he could have broken her arm or put her through the wall if he’d wanted to. With hardly any effort.
He wasn’t human, after all.
“Move again and I will force your compliance.” Nikolai leaned closer, his lips a breath away from Selene’s, inhaling. Tasting her breath. Well, the dead do breathe, when they want to, she thought in a lunatic singsong. Just like the first night I met him. She hastily shoved the thought away, freezing in place. It was a mark of possession, smelling her breath like that; a Nichtvren didn’t get that close unless he or she intended to feed or mark you. If she struggled, his predatory instinct might come into play and he might well decide to sink his fangs in her throat right here.
So instead of looking at him, she stared over his shoulder. There was a spot of discolored, peeling paint on the opposite wall. Selene looked intently at it, her eyes hot and dry. She felt his eyes on her, waiting for her to speak, argue, something, Selene bit the inside of her cheek. I’m not going to give you the fucking satisfaction. Something hacked his door down, oh God, oh God. Oh, Danny.
The weight of Nikolai’s gaze slowly lessened when she didn’t struggle. It took everything Selene had not to move, to stay still and passive. I will not give you the excuse. Danny, please be okay. Come on, Nikolai, you’re so blasted interested in both of us, help him! “Danny.” The whisper escaped despite her. Nikolai took another long breath, leaning close, inhaling her scent deeply. Her knees went weak.
“Stay here.” He disappeared. Selene felt the shimmer of Power in the close still air of the hallway. To a human it would feel like a chill walking up the spine, a tightness under the lungs, if they were sensitive. Someone without psychic sensitivity might feel a momentary breeze, a cold draft, a sudden flash of fear that would quickly be disregarded.
The shimmer slipped through the space between the door and the shattered frame. God, please, she prayed. Please, God. Please.
Always begging. They called witches like her—tantraiiken—the “beggars.” Always moaning and pleasing. It was hard not to, when you had a talent that made your body betray you over and over again.
Stop it. Think about something useful. Why was Nikolai here? Or Bruce? Bruce’s hunting ground wasn’t around Selene’s apartment building, at least, it hadn’t been three weeks ago, when he’d turned up…well, Turned.
Nikolai must have set Bruce to watch her. Why now when she’d known Nikolai for all this time?
Known might be too strong a word. You can’t know a Nichtvren. They’re not human, no matter how charming they can occasionally be. You’re food to them. That’s all.
Selene’s back prickled, her breath coming in shallow adrenaline-laden sips. Danny, be okay. God, please, let him just be panicked. Let him just be upset but okay. Or even just a little hurt. Let him be alive.
Caught between fear and excitement, Selene let out a slow sharp gasp. Her knees shook slightly, the outer edges of her shields thickening reflexively. The jeans she’d thrown on were damp at the ankles from the rain, and would be damp between her legs soon.
Oh, God. It was her cursed talent. A sexwitch didn’t feel fear the way other people did. No, being afraid just turned into a different sensation entirely. One below the belt, thick and warm enough to make her heartbeat pound in her ears, a trickle of heat beginning way down low.
The agonized dread spiraled, kick-started a wave of desire that tipped her head back against the wall, forced her breath into another jagged half-gasp. Any more of this and she’d be a quivering ball of need and nerves by the time Nikolai reappeared.
Goddammit, Selene, focus! She shook out her trembling hands; if she had to throw Power she would need her fingers. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She repeated the mantra, as if it would help. Please, God. Please let my brother be safe.
Begging, again. Loathing crawled up her spine, mixed with the desire, and turned her stomach into a sudsing, bubbling washing machine.
The shimmer returned. Nikolai solidified right in front of her, a faint breeze blowing stray strands of hair back, her forehead cold as the moisture evaporated. Wisps of hair stirred at her nape. Her ponytail was loose.
He looked absolutely solid, real. Did his victims ever see him coming? It was like swimming with a shark and suddenly wondering if you’d cut yourself shaving that morning.
Selene met his eyes, tipping her head back. Nothing. She blinked, then looked at the shattered door again.
Nikolai caught her shoulders, pushed her back against the wall. “We will call the police.”
Her body, traitor that it was, understood before she did. Her heart plummeted into her belly with a splash, and the stew of desire and horror faded under a wave of stark chemical adrenaline. “What’s this we? What’s wrong with Danny? What’s happened?”
He smiled, and Selene backed up—or tried to, her shoulders hit the wall again. There were few things worse than Nikolai’s lazy, genuinely good-humored grin. Especially his eyeteeth—fangs, she corrected herself, the word is fangs, let’s call it what it is, you’re old enough to call things what they are. She could all too well imagine what those teeth could do to her jugular.
It’s not his teeth, though. It’s the rest of him I have trouble with.
“You will disturb the evidence. We can’t have that, can we? The police prefer to observe the formalities.” Nikolai was calm, too calm, and that grin…
Danny, she thought, but it was merely a despairing moan.
Nikolai continued, softly and pitilessly. “We will go downstairs and call the police. Verscht za?”
She slid away toward the door, blindly. Nikolai pinned her to the wall, his body curving into hers. Heat slammed through her; she tasted copper adrenaline. Selene drew in a sharp breath and kicked, missing him somehow. He smiled, caught her wrists. He could hold her all night and struggling would only excite him—and her. Stop it. Then she said it out loud. “Stop it.” Her voice broke, helplessly.
“You are being unwise.” His tone was a mere murmur, so reasonable. “Do as I say, Selene. Help me.”
Help you? Help you? “You bastard.” The steel vise of his fingers strangled her wrists. A twisting wire of pain lanced up both arms. Jerking backward, she smacked her head against the wall, brief starry pain twinkling in front of her eyes. “Tell me what happened.”
“Your brother is dead, Selene. Now we must call the police. Will you come with me or shall I drag you?” Nikolai smiled, his eyes twinkling. “I would enjoy carrying you. Particularly if you struggle.”
“Let go of me. I’ll go downstairs and call the police.” Like a good little girl. Her teeth clenched together, her jaw aching. She’d have a goose-egg on the back of her head for sure. Danny…