A Hunger Like No Other

knowing he would appraise them just as he had her. The leggy blondes with bubble breasts spotted him and stopped in their stilettoed tracks, finally recovering enough to giggle loudly in a bid for his attention.

When it wasn't forthcoming, they pouted, and one 'dropped' her lipstick to roll by his feet. Emma gaped as the woman bent down before him, then checked for his reaction.

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.

Having been completely ignored, the two finally gave up and shot Emma venomous looks as they passed. As if he was hers? As if she was keeping him from them? She was a prisoner—more or less! 'You can have him, kitties,' she hissed for their ears only. They blanched before scuttling away. She might be a coward against Lore creatures, but with humans she could hold her own in the tabby arena.

Now, how would she fare traveling with a wolf?

Lachlain had watched as Emmaline glided through the lobby, moving too gracefully to truly look human. He'd been struck by how wealthy and coolly composed she appeared—like an aristocrat. One would never imagine her timorous nature, because she seemed to have donned a cloak of confidence.

Then she'd changed.

He didn't know what caused it, but her gaze turned heated. She gave the impression that she needed a man—and he'd responded. Everything in him responded. But others had, too. Though she seemed unconscious of it, her sensual walk and movements lured every male gaze to her. In mid-conversation, they turned and stared, enthralled. Even the women did. Lachlain pinpointed each of their focuses. The women stared at her clothing and shiny hair; the men ogled her breasts, lips, and eyes, their hearts and breaths speeding up at her mesmerizing beauty.

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 he had not claimed her. This was a vulnerable time, and the Instinct was screaming at him to get her away—

Realization hit him. Female vampires had always been born beautiful—as a defensive and predatory tool. They manipulated with it and used it to kill. This one was at work even now, doing what she'd been born to do. And he'd been reacting just as she'd known he would.

When she stood before him, he cast her a black look. She frowned at his expression, visibly swallowed, then said, 'I'm going to go with you. And I won't try to run or escape.' Her voice was silky and seductive, a voice made for wicked murmurs in bed. 'I'll help you, but I'm asking you not to hurt me.'

'I told you I'd protect you.'

'You told me the night before that you might kill me.'

His scowl deepened.

'Just please, um, could you try not to?' She looked up at him with those blue eyes that appeared so guileless.

She thought to use her wiles to handle him? To gentle the beast inside him? He couldn't even control it—

An odd, chill wind blew, batting a curl against her cheek. Her eyes narrowed. A second later, they widened and her hands flew to his chest. He glanced down and saw her shell-pink claws go from curling to straight—like little daggers.

She'd perceived a threat. His eyes scanned the area; he was feeling something, too. But it was fleeting, and his senses weren't as keen as they normally were. Not yet. In any case, a menace of some sort near her wasn't surprising. 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.

Instead of telling her that, he removed her hands from his chest with an expression of distaste. 'I'll bet you're better off with me than alone out here.'

She nodded, agreeing. 'Then can we go?'

When he gave her a tight nod, and drew away from her to go to the passenger side of the car, the valet opened the driver's door and helped her in. Lachlain cringed at not having assisted her, then grew angered over his chagrin.

After a brief grappling with the door handle, he joined her, sinking into the plush seat. The interior was luxurious—even he would know that—though it was strange that the accents in the car looked like wood but didn't smell organic.

She peeked at the back seating of the car, no doubt noticing the cache of magazines he'd had the concierge amass for him, but without even a questioning glance she faced forward. 'I can get to London'—she pushed a button that said OnStar—'but after that I'll need help.'

He nodded, watching as she hurriedly adjusted her seat far forward before strapping a harness over her front.

At his look, she explained, 'It's a seat belt. For safety,' then reached down to move a lever to D.

So help him, if that stood for 'drive' and that was all it took to engage this machine, he was going to fall out. When she glanced at his seat belt, he raised his eyebrows and said simply, 'Immortal.'

He knew he'd irritated her. She moved her foot to the longer of two pedals on the floor, stomping it, and the car surged forward into traffic. She glanced at him, no doubt hoping to have startled him. Not possible—he could already tell he was going to love cars.

Her tone defensive, she said, 'I'm immortal, too, usually, but if I get in a wreck and get knocked out till morning, that sun allergy card my aunts make me cart around won't do jack. Okay?'

'I understood fifty percent of that,' he observed calmly.

'I can't afford this car,' she retorted, clenching the steering wheel as she directed the vehicle around other cars.

Why this concern about money? Who would dare withhold funds from her? The vampires had always been wealthy and had just begun investing in seep oil when he was imprisoned. Obviously, the market had grown. Not surprising, since everything their king, Demestriu, touched turned to gold. Or died.

Thinking of Demestriu made rage flare, nearly choking him. Pain radiated through his leg, and he clenched his hand on the handle above his head, crushing it.

She gasped, then locked her gaze straight ahead, murmuring to herself, 'How much can a handle cost? Really.'

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.

Their home. He was returning to Kinevane, his ancestral estate in the Highlands, with his woman. Finally. And if she weren't a vampire, he might feel pleased about that fact.

Instead of slighted.

He wondered how the clan would react to the incredible insult of her presence.

7

How fast are we going?'

'Eighty kilometers an hour,' Emma answered in an offhanded tone.

'How long is a kilometer?'

She'd known he was going to ask that. Sad but true—she didn't know. She was just matching the dial on her speedo to the kilometer-an-hour limit posted on the signs.

Many of his questions over the last half hour were making her feel stupid, and for some reason she felt it vital that he didn't think that.

The questions accompanied the stockpile of news magazines he'd acquired, no doubt from 'the man downstairs' who'd mapped out this journey. Emma had seen Lachlain flying through them, realizing he was reading