A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark, #1)

by Kresley Cole

Fate has given her to him when he needs her most, and gods help him—and this city—if he can’t find her. His brutality had been legendary, and he will unleash it without measure for her.

Need her. Bury myself in her. Waited so long. . . . Her scent is gone. His eyes go wet, and he shudders violently at the loss. An anguished roar makes the city tremble.

My ideal man? He’ d have to be considerate, easygoing, and well-mannered. Above all, he’ d need to treat me like a queen. —Emmaline Troy, aka Emma the Timid, half vampire, half Valkyrie

Never run from one such as me, female. You will no’ get away—and we like it. —Lachlain M...

The human males she passed turned their heads to regard her, frowns in place, sensing something, but unsure. Probably some genetic memory from long ago that signaled her as their wildest fantasy or their darkest nightmare.

Who in the hell had programmed the Crazy Frog ring tone into her cell phone? Her eyes narrowed. Aunt Regin. The world’s most immature immortal, who looked like a siren and behaved like a frat pledge.

“Never run from one such as me, female.” Her attacker didn’t sound human. “You will no’ get away. And we like it.” His voice was guttural like a beast’s, yet his accent was . . . Scottish?

Up close, she could see his features were even, masculine. A strong chin and jaw complemented the chiseled planes. He was beautiful, so much so that she thought he had to be a fallen angel. Possible. How could she rule out anything?

“Take me to where you stay,” he ordered, finally facing her as he stood before her. “No,” she amazed herself by saying. He, too, looked surprised. “Because you doona want me to stop? Good. I’ll take you here on the grass on your hands and knees”—he lifted her easily until she was kneeling—“till well after the sun rises.”

He crossed to her, looming over her. In a low, deadly tone, he grated, “I only hope you run from me again.”

When he draped his heavy arm across her shoulders as if they were together, she glanced up at him from under a wet lock of hair.

He moved like an animal, with aggression at every turn, though she’d noticed he favored one leg.

Still he continued toward her, studying her, weighing . . . before his gaze settled on her lips. “I’ve waited a long time for you.” He continued to behave as if he knew her. She would never forget a man like him. “I need you. No matter what you are. And I’ll wait no longer.”

Unhurriedly, he leaned in, brushing his mouth against hers. He groaned from the small contact and pressed harder, flicking her lips with his tongue. She froze, not knowing what to do. Against her mouth, he growled, “Kiss me back, creature, while I decide if I should spare your life.”

“P-privacy?” she gasped. Amusement. “You have none.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his muscled arms, as if awaiting a show. “Now, undress for me and let me see what’s mine.”

He pulled up his stolen pants to inspect his regenerating leg. The flesh was sunken and wasted. He tried to push away memories of that loss. But what other recent memories did he have? Only those of being burned to death repeatedly. For what he now knew had been a hundred and fifty years. . . .

Christ help him, his instincts still said this pale-haired, ethereal creature was . . . his. The Instinct screamed inside him to touch her, to claim her. He’d waited for so long.

For more than a thousand years, he’d searched for her. And he’d found her in what he despised with a hatred so virulent he couldn’t control it.

He’d always pictured his mate as a buxom redheaded lass with wolven blood who could handle his lusts, who would revel in the raw ferocity with him—not this fearful wisp of a vampire.

Her eyes widened, focused on his cock, and she covered her mouth. You’d think she’d never seen one. He let her look her fill, even leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest while she stared.

In fact, keeping her from her vampire kin would just be the beginning of his revenge. He knew they’d find the idea of her being fucked repeatedly by a Lykae as revolting as his clan would find it.

“I think”—before she could blink, he’d ripped her skirt clean from her body and tossed it to the ground—“that I should at least know your name before I set to touchin’ you.”

He held out his hand. Not aggressively or impatiently, but accompanied by a slow perusal of her wholly naked body with eyes that were now golden and warm. He gave a sharp groan that she knew was involuntary. As if he found her beautiful.

“B-but you said—” “That I would no’ fuck you. Trust me, you’ll know when I’m about to.”

“You feel me hard. Know that the only reason I’m no’ inside you right now is because I’m weak. No’ because of any concern for you.” Face flushed with embarrassment, she tugged at her hand until he let it go. “You would hurt me that way?” “Without a second thought.” His lips curled. His gaze seemed intent on her face, but his eyes were still vacant. “And that’s just the beginning of the things I’ll do to you, vampire.”

He supposed it could be worse. If he was going to possess a vampire, she might as well be a beautiful one. She was a hated foe, a blood drinker, but beautiful.

The thought of his clan made him glance up at the vampire, sleeping still as a corpse. If she was his mate, she would be queen of all Lykae. Impossible. The clan would rip her to shreds at the first opportunity. The Lykae and vampires were natural-born enemies—had been since the first nebulous chaos of the Lore.

Audacity made kings. And it was time to reclaim his crown.

The Lykae were prone to fits of temper—in fact, they spent many years of their lives learning to control it. Couple that tendency with what he’d been through, and he was shocked that he’d felt only a flare or two of anger. To quell them, he’d pictured the vampire sleeping up in his room, in what was now his bed. The creature was in his possession, to do with as he pleased. The knowledge of that alone helped brace him against his memories.

He was a sick bastard to contemplate these thoughts about a vampire, to find one so attractive. But then, shouldn’t he be allowed some latitude? He hadn’t seen a Lykae female in nearly two centuries. That was the only reason why his mouth watered to kiss her.

At his first taste, he groaned from the intense pleasure. He licked madly at her wetness, grinding his hips into the sheets. How could she feel so good to him? How could he be experiencing this much pleasure—as if she was truly the one he’d waited for?

He roared as he charged her, throwing her to the bed and pinning her down. He freed his trews and gripped himself, about to shove into her, crazed with rage and lust, ignoring the Instinct’s warnings. —Her mind won’t bend; she’ll break. You’ll destroy what you’ve been given— He saw her fangs as she gasped with fear, and wanted to hurt her. A vampire given to him? Bound to him for eternity? More torture. More hatred.

“Come down from there.” Why had his chest tightened with such alarm?

Fear brought him his first true clarity since before the fire. Twelve hundred years he’d waited. For . . . her. For Emmaline.

She glanced over her shoulder at the waxing moon rising, giving him her flawless profile. A gust pushed her hair across her neck. In all his years, he’d never seen such a preternatural scene as her pale skin against her blood-red gown with the moon glowing behind her.

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 willingly 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.

In truth, there was a yawning loneliness in her life—and a fear about her nature that rode her constantly. . . . As far as she knew, she was like no one else in existence—she truly belonged nowhere—and though her Valkyrie aunts loved her, she felt loneliness as sharply as a blade driven into her heart every day.

His eyes were that warm golden color, and he was wearing new clothes. He looked like a mid-thirties millionaire. Or a physique-model playing one.

He wore a dark leather car coat that was hand-stitched and flat-front trousers, camel in color and lean in fit. Under the opened jacket, a black thin cashmere shirt molded to him like a second skin. Between the edges of his coat, she could see the rigid outlines of his chest. His clothing said, I’m rich, and I might be a little dangerous. Women would adore him.

“You didn’t leave me any way to cover my ears,”

Her comment made him scowl again at her clothing. She wanted to hide something he found attractive, and yet her garments were so revealing to others? Her black trews scarcely came up over her hipbones and hugged the curves of her arse. Her red shirt, though high-collared, had strange, asymmetrical seams that drew the eye to the swell of her breasts. When she moved, flashes of her flat midriff came into view. He’d chosen those clothes to cover her—not advertise her. He’d buy her new ones at the first opportunity, spending freely of the Horde’s money.

The coven had forbidden Emma to drink straight from a living source because they didn’t want her to accidentally kill. Plus they believed blood was mystically alive when inside a being, its powers—and side effects—dying when outside.

“He’s strong. Said he’d protect me.” Great kisser. Intermittently insane. With a broad chest she’d wanted to lick like a blood sno-cone.

“But I did hear that you think me ‘wildly handsome.’ ” He wondered why he’d felt a flare of pleasure at that. As if he cared what she thought.

Although he appeared relaxed, his eyes were watchful, and the streetlamps lit an expression that was intent and never wavering from her face. She suppressed the urge to glance behind her for the woman he was truly devouring with his eyes. Was this whole scary situation worth it so she could experience that look? So she could have the knowledge of what it was like to have a man like that look at her as if she were the only woman in the world?

Between her and Lachlain, she was the only one watching the scene—he’d never taken his gaze from her. But she had the impression that he was well aware of their antics. His eyes bored into hers as if saying, I’m looking at what I want. She shivered.

Did each of those fools think he’d be the one to give her what she desired? Fury fired in him. She’d told him with a steady gaze that deep down he was a monster. She’d been partly correct, and right now that beast wanted to kill every male that dared look at her when Lachlain had not claimed her.

As a vampire she had many blood enemies—a fact he’d once applauded. Now he would have to fight them, because he would destroy anything that sought to hurt her.

he could already tell he was going to love cars.

Her unnecessary worry over something that would have no bearing on their life irritated him. His wealth—their wealth—was in his, their home. They need only get to it.