Before Dawn Read online

  * * * * *

  She wasn’t here. Mercy Jansen wasn’t among the five hundred or so costumed attendees indulging in free-flowing alcohol and tiny hors d’oeuvres that would look ridiculous held between his fingers.

  Ryan McGinnis knew she wasn’t there because after three months of surveillance he would’ve been able to locate her in a crowd by her scent alone.

  Scanning the room even though he knew he wouldn’t find her, Ryan cursed the Council. What in his last damned report hadn’t been clear? And why question him tonight of all nights? Even after he’d bit out why leaving Mercy Jansen alone even for a minute tonight was an extremely bad idea, he hadn’t been allowed to leave. And that was when he’d studied each member of the Council and, with a new level of cynicism, judged them, weighed them.

  Christ, where could she be? She was trying to raise funds for the museum, so shouldn’t she be milling about, making nice with all the moneyed people?

  Joséphine and a man too thin and too tall to be a convincing Napoléon Bonaparte passed by in front of him. Ryan ignored the appraising looks the tipsy pair aimed in his direction. Frustration flared. The woman, who was usually as predictable as a Swiss timepiece, had to choose tonight of all nights to deviate from expected behavior.

  * * * * *

  The man of your dreams.

  As the mouth suckled at a bared breast, her thoughts slowly—oh-so painfully slowly—wove themselves together, one fragile thread at a time because the electrical pulses between the neurons in her brain had slowed to one frame per second. The picture that emerged made her think she’d lost more than just her Catholic sense of inhibition.

  The sense of déjà vu was nearly overwhelming. She’d felt this before. She’d done this before.

  She’d dreamt this before.

  Oh, God.

  Her breath shuddered out of her lungs. As if they were trying to push through a wall of molasses, her hands came up and braced against his shoulders. She dug in the heels of her palms and pushed. He didn’t budge. If anything, those deceptively slim arms encircling her tightened further.

  Fear quickened her pulse.

  Then she felt them. The warning dual scrapes of dangerously sharp points on her skin. She struggled wildly. Or thought she did. She couldn’t be sure because her limbs felt heavy and clumsy, like she’d been dosed with Benadryl. A sound of frustration filled her head. Then it was too late as she cried out at the searing blaze of pain in her breast.

  The wet sucking sounds were abnormally loud and filled her with revulsion and renewed strength. Tears stung her eyes as she fisted her hands in his hair and tried to yank his head back, but the locks of hair slid through her fingers like water. Something slammed against her head, and another cry escaped her. Lights burst behind her closed eyelids, then a piercing pain, as if a sharp object was trying to bore its way into her brain. Disjointed images flashed in her mind’s eye. Her hands came up to cradle her head, knead her temples to ease the pain, but nothing—

  There was a loud crash, muffled as if it came from a distance, and suddenly, the pain was gone.

  * * * * *

  Ryan took in the scene between one panicked heartbeat and the next. Mercy Jansen, half-naked, eyes glittering with tears, skin as pale as the monster he’d just pulled off her—except for the ugly crimson smear staining one breast and the equally ugly, equally crimson rivulet trickling down her chest.

  He didn’t think. He spun around and launched himself at the creature he’d bodily thrown out into the corridor. The element of surprise, however, was no longer his. A booted foot met his torso, sending him flying back onto the floor as the air was forcibly expelled from his lungs. He slid on his back until his head thumped against the desk. Momentarily stunned, it took him precious seconds to flip back onto his feet.

  He heard a hiss and caught a glimpse of bare fangs as fingers closed around his neck like a steel manacle. Before the vampire could dig in his fingernails and rip out a much-needed larynx, Ryan struck the creature’s elbow with the heel of his palm, exerting enough force to break it had his opponent been human. As it was, it weakened his target enough for him to encircle the wrist and twist the captured arm into an arm bar. He let gravity take his weight to the ground and heard a pop.

  With an inhuman shout of pain and rage, the vampire tore his dislocated arm from Ryan’s grip, rolled away, and delivered a vicious kick that managed to break through Ryan’s block, stunning him for the second time tonight. The vampire flew to his feet and threw himself at the large window behind the desk. Glass shattered like an explosion had gone off, and even knowing the shards would be flying out the window, Ryan automatically whipped his head to the side to protect his face.

  Cursing viciously, he ran to the window, hands braced on either side of the frame, and scanned the night sky from left to right. The moon was out, crisp and bone white, but the vampire was long gone. Despite knowing what he would find, he looked down. There were only the broken shards of glass reflecting the moonlight up at him. No body.

  Vampires could fly. Ryan still needed a jet engine and wings.

  A moan, faint and abruptly bitten off, drifted to him. He turned toward the sound and felt something inside him clench painfully. Mercy was huddled against a bookshelf in a corner, having dragged herself there while he’d been otherwise engaged. Her breathing was labored and shallow and her forehead lined with pain. One white-knuckled hand clung to a shelf just above her head, which she rested against the raised forearm. The other hand cradled a plump breast, the one marred by blood still trickling from two puncture wounds. Having been bitten himself, he knew her flesh would be throbbing with searing pain.

  With a muttered curse, he crossed the room, whipping his leather jacket off before he reached her side. He went down on his haunches and draped the garment over her shoulders. She flinched, and her eyelids flew open, pinning Ryan with Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes. They stunned him, not the incredible shade of violet staring back at him, but the fear he could read underneath the drug-induced fog clouding her vision.

  The French prick with the overgrown canines seemed to prefer his victims insensible.

  Her lips parted, as if to protest his presence, but only a choked sound emerged as she shrank away from him.

  Ryan quickly held out his hands, palms out, trying to look non-threatening and knowing he was probably failing miserably.

  “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” he explained. The words were quiet but hoarse since the muscles in his throat, like the muscles in the rest of his body, ached with the suppressed need to make someone pay for the look in her eyes. As his fingers curled into fists, he lowered his hands to hide them from her gaze. “Let me help you, Mercy.”

  Her eyes flared at the sound of her name. She started to shake her head as if to clear it and stopped mid-movement, the lines of pain etched on her face deepening. He reached for her, then thought better of it when she went rigid. His hands stopped an inch away from touching her. Frustration ripped through him. “Damn it, I have to get you away from here. It’s not safe.”

  She’d either decided to trust him or could no longer fight the sedatives in her system. Either way, her eyes drifted shut and her body went limp. He caught her before she hit the floor.

  After tugging his jacket more tightly around her, he rose with her in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder and her hair streaming over his arm. She felt light, insubstantial, and he had to gather her more closely against him.

  Chapter Two

  Her world was black and heavy with a silence that pressed on her chest. Everything felt soft and slow, like licking her way through a thick layer of honey. Except Mercy wasn’t doing any licking—she wasn’t doing anything. Her limbs felt too heavy to move, as if weights she couldn’t see lay atop them.

  Lips, slick and damp, repeatedly brushed over hers. Her own parted on a sigh, as if inviting a deeper touch. The wet tip of a tongue answered, tracing the inside of her bottom lip. Sharp teeth nipped it, then moved on. Ha
nds cupped her breasts, as if offering them for the mouth that enclosed one tip, then the other.

  Mercy shifted her body against the slick fabric next to her skin. Despite the arousal leisurely working its way through her bloodstream, she couldn’t block out the tiny patch of discord squirming in the far corner of her mind, taunting her almost. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would help her concentrate. She reached for those elusive threads of memory, stretching as far as she could, but they remained infuriatingly beyond her touch. The harder she tried, the further they danced out of her reach.

  A sharp, cold edge pressed into the flesh of her thigh, sliced—and she screamed.

  Ryan captured the flailing hands and squeezed but she continued to thrash about wildly, her legs pumping, tangling in the hot sheets. He called her name despite knowing she wouldn’t hear him over whatever dream demon was making her struggle against him with such desperation.

  Manacling both her wrists, he jerked them over her head and let his body fall on top of hers, trapping her legs between both of his. When she continued to struggle, trying to twist out from underneath him, he let her have his entire considerable weight, deliberately crushing her. It was either that or slap her into full consciousness. The air was audibly squeezed from her lungs just before she went limp.

  Ryan remained still, uncertain of her surrender. After several moments, he braced his forearms on the bed and lifted his chest off her. She sucked in a lungful of air, her body quaking. The sounds of her harsh breathing filled the room.

  “Mercy?”

  Another quivering breath. Very carefully, he released her wrists. Mercy didn’t take advantage of her new-found freedom. Gently, Ryan brushed back the tangled mass of hair covering her face.

  “You were only dreaming. You’re safe.”

  Underneath him, she inhaled slowly and shook her head. It was dark in the room, the only illumination provided by moonlight filtered through chintz curtains covering the window. He hadn’t been able to think about anything except getting to her when her scream had ripped through the air. Her face was pale and her eyes were closed. Tears glittered on her lashes.

  Something clawed at his chest. Hoarsely, fiercely, he promised, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Ryan started to sit up. Her hands shot out and clutched at the front of his T-shirt, keeping him above her. Startled, he looked down at her. Her eyes were wide open and filled with apprehension.

  “Don’t go.” Her voice was raspy and broken. She swallowed. “Please. I-I can’t…be…alone.”

  Oh, Christ.

  Feeling inordinately clumsy, Ryan shifted onto his side. When the fingers fisted in his shirt clenched, he made noises he hoped were soothing and pulled her body into the curve of his. Her face burrowed against his chest, soft hair tickling the underside of his jaw. A slender leg slipped between both of his, naked breasts flattened against his abdomen.

  He stroked a palm down the soft, smooth skin of her narrow back, stopping shy of the curves of her buttocks before retracing his path. As his blood heated and his body hardened, he wished he hadn’t been thoughtful enough to strip her of her torn and bloodied clothes before tucking her in.

  McGinnis, you do not take advantage of vulnerable women.

  Ryan reined in the impulse to pull her closer, to explore the tantalizing crevice—

  The female body in his arms trembled. Her lips moved against his pulse, as did the soft globes of flesh against his abdomen. Ryan froze and cursed the thin barrier of his T-shirt. And he knew she couldn’t miss the erection pushing against her thigh.

  Something hot and wet brushed the skin of his throat, and he cursed himself. While he was lusting after her, she was silently crying.

  “Mercy?” He sounded like his throat was lined with gravel. “What’s wrong? Are the puncture wounds bothering you?”

  God, he hoped it was the bite on her breast. He’d been trained to handle those types of injuries.

  “He’s in my head,” she whispered, revulsion and fear shading her tone, and shook harder. “I can still see him, hear him. I can still…feel him.”

  His hands tightened on her body. In his mind’s eye, he saw the scene in her office and blood pounded violently in his temples.

  “Kiss me.”

  Her quiet demand cut through the red haze clouding his brain. Ryan drew back and stared at her, not sure if he’d heard right.

  “Please,” she whispered, tilting her head back and offering him her lips. Her short laugh was a rough, humorless sound. “I need to forget.”

  He’d watched over her for three months and wanted her just as long. He’d fantasized about being with her, about spreading her underneath him, driving into her, making her cry out his name as he made her come again and again.

  There was no doubt he wanted her, but not like this, not as a tool to chase away bad memories.

  A hand cupped his bulging erection. Even through the thick material of his jeans, the heat of her palm seared him. He was lost.

  Mercy felt the muscles in the male body curved over hers tighten even more and knew he’d surrendered. Not wanting to allow him time to reconsider, she felt for the tab of his zipper, making him groan in the process. A large, rough hand closed over her wrist, squeezed it hard enough to make her fingers go numb.

  She looked up. He was staring into her eyes as if the anti-life equation was hidden in their depths, intense and scrutinizing.

  “Last chance,” he warned, his voice deep and rough and impatient and pleading all at once. No smooth, insidious seductiveness. Nothing at all like the voice that had whispered in her too-real dreams. She shifted her head, her nose brushing against the skin of his throat, and inhaled. No cloying cologne masked his warm, masculine scent. She flicked out her tongue, touched the hollow of his throat and tasted salt. Something inside her eased, even as arousal uncurled its heated fingers in her lower body.

  Above her, he hissed in air between gritted teeth, and then he was crushing her into the mattress. One hand plunged into her hair. The other hooked the back of her knee and spread her open even more. While his mouth sealed over hers, he pressed the hard length of his cock against her sex. It was her turn to suck in a breath and hold it. He rocked his hips, small movements so they never broke contact, making her shiver uncontrollably in response.

  Oh, God.

  The need to touch him, to know the feel of his bare skin against hers was a physical ache that made her entire body taut. Wanting desperately to explore him, Mercy struggled to free hands trapped between their bodies.

  He immediately pulled back and muttered something unintelligible. Suspecting he thought she’d changed her mind, Mercy slid her freed hands into his hair and pulled his head back down, crushing his lips to hers. She slanted her head, parted her lips, and traced the seam of his mouth with her tongue. His own plunged into her mouth, returning her kiss hard enough to force her head deeper into the pillow.

  As her fingers raked across his shoulders and down his back, she wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him closer. The heavy material of his jeans was rough on the inside of her thighs, but it only added to the stimulation bombarding her senses.

  She arched her hips to meet the downward thrust of his, moaning darkly into his mouth when the center seam of his jeans rubbed and pushed up against her swollen clitoris. New fires started, making her melt at her core.

  She went wild, tearing at his T-shirt until he broke off the wet kiss and pushed himself up and back onto his knees. He peeled off the T-shirt, tossed it aside, then reached for the fly of his jeans. He found her hands, trembling with desire and anticipation, already there.

  She popped the button. He pulled down the zipper and brushed her hands aside, shedding the jeans, a lot hastily, a little clumsily, and stared avidly the entire time at her nude body laid out before him like an offering. Then he was as naked as she—all lean, corded muscles rippling under golden skin, his shaft long and thick and flushed with blood—and Mercy’s mouth watered. A
s he tore a foil packet he’d retrieved from the hip pocket of his jeans and rolled on the condom, her lips parted and her tongue flicked out to wet them.

  A low sound broke from his throat. Before she could grab him and pull him back to her, calloused hands clamped onto her thighs and spread them until her muscles protested. He lowered his head, and the first lick of his tongue made her close her eyes. Her fingers tunneled into his hair, the short, cool strands a sharp contrast to the heat of his skin, the heat of his mouth.

  He licked her, up and down, making her writhe beneath him before sucking her clitoris into his mouth and letting her feel the smooth edges of his teeth.

  The orgasm took her by surprise, making fireworks explode behind her eyelids, her body arch in one still moment before the spasms took over.

  Ryan licked the glistening juices trickling from her sex, loving the taste of her on his tongue. Here, she was as soft as silk, as slick as satin, and the thought of burying his shaft in her heated core made it twitch. He felt electrified. He was so close to release his body was shaking. If he had more self-control, he’d leave her.