The Enclave 2 Undying Embrace Read online

  She should be in love with him. Shouldn’t she?

  “Elle? Lass, are you still there?”

  “Huh? Yeah, I’m still here. I’m sorry, Logan. My sister is calling me. I have to go. Good-bye.”

  “Wait. Elle, I—”

  Tapping End Call with her thumb, she dropped her forehead onto her palm. “Damn, damn, damn.” She hated this, but she didn’t want him here. She didn’t need the added pressure of dealing with what was in her heart, or not. Locating her sister was something she needed to handle alone. She and Alex had always taken care of each other. They’d had to. With a drug addict mother and a stepfather whose attentions had had nothing to do with love, they’d only had each other to cling to.

  Elle stepped from the car and slammed the door shut. A soft beep and a flash of light from the headlights later, she dropped her keys into her purse and headed across the street. The closer she moved toward the club, the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement began to fade, drowned by the music rolling in waves off the exterior walls.

  As she neared the door, what had to be a three-hundred-pound man with a purple Mohawk stepped in front of her. His gaze slid down her body, then back to her face.

  She lifted a brow and held his stare. “Do you approve?”

  One corner of his mouth curled. “Yeah”—his head bobbed into a slow nod—”I do.” He eased aside. She darted around him and into the dim corridor, releasing the breath trapped in her lungs.

  Music thumped inside her chest like a heartbeat as she headed into the club. Farther inside, the scene was right out of the set of Underworld. Blood-reds and metallic blacks coated every surface that wasn’t mirrored. Strobe lights bounced off half-naked bodies writhing in blatant sexual innuendo on the dance floor. Welcome to nympho hell. Or heaven, depending on your point of view.

  As a human who’d lived with vampires for the past seven years, she was accustomed to life on the dark side. But this… These kids had no idea what game they were playing. The reality of what they mimicked was no movie set. There were no dress rehearsals allowed. And there was no going back home to Mommy if you didn’t like what bit you. Literally.

  Elle spotted an opening at the bar and shimmied onto the seat. A guy with arms that could probably bench-press Vin Diesel slid himself between her and the next seat. Tattoos covered his bare chest, depicting every colorful fetish imaginable. His hip brushed the exposed flesh of her thigh. She tugged at the hem of her leather micro, suddenly wishing she’d chosen to wear something more than what amounted to a matching bra and panties.

  He leaned in, his bald head and multiple piercings glinting under the strobe lighting. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he said, the black loop jabbed through his lower lip bouncing with every syllable. Even though he hovered close enough for her to smell the beer on his breath, she had to strain to hear his words over the music.

  “That’s because I haven’t been here before.” Smiling, she slid her sister’s picture from her purse and placed it on the counter beside her. “I’m looking for someone. Maybe you can help me?” She held the photograph up and tattoo man shoved away from the bar. “Hey, where are you going?” He walked away without a backward glance and blended into the crowd as Nine Inch Nails hit their chorus, declaring their intent of wanting to fuck like an animal. She groaned. Shit. She hoped not everyone was going to be as helpful as he was.

  “What are you drinking?” She swung her head around at the sudden hoarse-sounding voice behind her. The bartender leaned toward her, both hands braced on the bar separating them. Wearing a buzz haircut and lacking piercing holes in his face, he didn’t fit in with the rest of the dark and creepy crowd.

  Elle flipped up the image of her sister. “You ever see her around here?” His eyebrows shot up, followed by his eyes, which went up and over the photo and straight into her face.

  “Why you want to know? You a cop or something?”

  “She’s my sister. And no, I’m not a cop—or something.” Elle wiggled the photo. “Have you seen her?”

  He shrugged. “Lady, I just serve ‘em the booze. I don’t babysit. Couldn’t tell you if I saw her or not.” He grabbed a bar cloth and mopped up the wet rings off the bar. “So are you drinking or wasting my time?”

  Yeah. She was drinking. “I’ll have a Bud Light.” He nodded, headed toward the cooler, and she slipped the photo back in her purse. Strike two. At this rate, she’d end up with a serious case of whiplash.

  Two pasty-white girls, dripping in chains and draped in black, crowded next to her in the spot tattoo man had vacated. They ordered beers, then in loud, overly excited voices started gushing about a hot guy who’d just sat down at the bar a few seats away. Each wanted to be the first to get a bite of him.

  Curiosity had her glancing over to check out their version of a “hottie.” Her chest constricted, forcing her next breath to fight its way into her lungs. There was no mistaking that face, even though his hair was longer, below his shoulders, and the former deceptive halo of blond hair had been slashed with thick lines of black. It looked as though he’d dipped his hands in dye and raked them through his hair in an I-don’t-give-a-shit manner. Crazy. But striking.

  And she’d have known him anywhere.

  Arran MacLain.

  He tipped his beer up to his lips for a swallow, drawing her attention to the dark shadow of hair along his jaw. He’d tied his hair back, and a large black-and-platinum cross swayed at his earlobe. She shook her head and squirmed in her seat. Damn, he looked even sexier than… Her mind raced back to the Enclave’s former headquarters and the last moment they’d shared together on the staircase. She strummed her nails against the glass bottle in her hand.

  Forgettable.

  Yeah, that was the word he’d used to describe their kiss. She had the sudden urge to march over there and bash her beer bottle over his head. Instead, she tossed back a gulp of the cold, bitter liquid.

  Above her head, chilled air blew from the vent in the ceiling, a welcome temporary relief from the overheated bodies steaming up the crowded floor space. A lock of hair from her wig blew across her face. She brushed it back, making room for another sip of her beer, her eyes never leaving Arran’s face.

  He went for his bottle again and lifted it to his mouth, but his arm stilled before the beer met his lips. She knew the moment he sensed her presence. His nostrils flared, and his beer made a slow descent back to the counter. Her heart hammered against her chest, and a shudder raced across her body. Another round of Nine Inch Nails’ haunting cry for help filled the room. Perfect timing. She had a feeling that in a few seconds, she was going to need it.

  She should run.

  Now.

  So why didn’t she reach for her purse? As if time had slowed to a crawl, his head turned in her direction. His sage green gaze met hers, setting fire to the part of her soul that had been frozen since he’d walked out of her life.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Elle jumped at the unexpected growl in her ear. The familiar scent of warm leather and spice, one she would never forget, teased her nostrils.

  God, help me.

  When had he moved? Her eyes darted from the now-vacant location at the bar, to the spot over her shoulder. He leaned closer, bracing his body with one large palm against the edge of the bar, the other on the back of her stool. The warmth of his presence enveloped her, notching her temperature up. She tightened her grip on her beer, the chill of the glass doing little to calm the fever inside her.

  She didn’t owe him an answer. Two years and that was how he greeted her? She dropped her gaze back to her bottle and took a very deliberate swig of her beer, hoping like hell that he would get his boxers in a wad. That is, if he wore any. The mouthful of beer staggered down her throat, almost choking her, but she recovered. Oh no, brain. Do not go there.

  “Gabrielle.” Her name was another growl in her ear. “What are you doing here?”

  Elle eased the bottle back to the bar top, then swiveled her he
ad to face him. She’d always loved the graceful lines of his face—a long, straight nose and chiseled jaw, to full lips any woman would be envious of. She risked a glance into his eyes. Pale green irises consumed her, surrounded by a thick fan of lashes so dark, he didn’t need to add the trademark goth eyeliner.

  “You need a shave.” She traced her index finger along the curve of his bearded jaw. Electric tingles, like heat lightning on a hot summer night, traveled every nerve path straight to her core. She gasped and jerked her hand away. A rush of moisture gathered between her legs. Arran’s eyes widened, and his mouth parted, revealing the tips of two fangs.

  His hand gripped her upper arm, his breath hot against her ear. “Come with me. Now.”

  “I don’t think so.” She jerked against his hold, and he released her arm. His eyes squeezed shut. A few seconds passed before it looked like he’d gathered himself enough to open them. His next words came on the tail end of a long exhale.

  “Fine,” he said; the word sounded punished by his vocal cords. “Let’s start this over. Hello, Gabrielle.” He stuck out his palm. With everyone else, she was just Elle. But not with Arran. He’d always insisted on using her full name. He said that Gabrielle suited her, felt right. And good luck with trying to change the vampire’s mind. Besides, it wasn’t such a hardship to bear. Somehow, when he said her name, Arran made every consonant sound beautiful, musical.

  She glanced up at him, then back to his upturned hand. What would it hurt? She could do this. Elle slid her hand into his. Warm fingers wrapped around hers and gently squeezed. Elle’s eyelids lowered at the sensation. What was it about this man that his touch held so much power over her? The up-and-down action of their wrists slowed to a stop, but he didn’t pull away. She opened her eyes. Her gaze dropped to their joined palms, then followed the line of his arm up to his bicep, bulging under the black T-shirt that looked like wild animals had shredded the front. Yum-mee. When their gazes met, he blinked, and his hand slipped from hers. For a brief second, she could have sworn…

  The lighting in this place was playing tricks with her mind. She gave her head a gentle shake, because there was no way he wanted her like that. If he did, he would have never left.

  “We have to talk.” Arran motioned with his head in the direction of the front door. “But not here. Would you at least step outside with me?” He paused, and the muscles in his jaw worked overtime before he added, “Please.”

  She could tell he was really trying to be patient and polite. And for Arran, the fact that he’d just thrown out a please was significant. Elle grabbed her purse, swiveled her bar stool in the opposite direction, and slid to her feet. He fell in behind her as she headed for the door. Whatever he had to say had better be good, because she was not ending the search for her sister just so he didn’t have to be annoyed with her presence.

  The cool breeze outside the club was a welcome relief from the steamy and overheated environment inside. Elle stopped a few steps outside.

  “Now, what it is you have to talk to me about that we can’t discuss inside?” She propped one hand on her hip and turned to face him.

  “Where’s your car?” Loose strands of his multicolored hair blew across his face. The tendrils of blond and black appeared so soft in contrast to the warrior vampire standing in front of her. They shimmered in the harsh white light of the streetlamp. She wondered what they would feel like brushing across her face—her breasts—as he held himself over her and…

  Swiping the hairs away from his eyes with one hand, he tucked them behind his ear. The sudden movement wrenched her back to reality. Get a grip, woman. That’s not happening.

  Elle pointed to her Lexus across the street. “My car’s right there, but I’m not getting in it.” She shook her head. “I’m not finished here.”

  “Just talk. That’s all I’m asking. What I have to say can’t be said here.” Nodding in the direction of her car, he grasped her upper arm. “Let’s go.” Arran nearly dragged her across the street.

  Elle swatted at his hand. “God, you’re like some caveman.” She yanked her arm free and came to a dead stop in the middle of the road.

  He spun and faced her. “What are you doing?”

  She glared. “Let’s get something straight, right now.”

  Arran crossed his arms, his eyebrows rising in expectation.

  “That will be the last time you manhandle me. You jerk me around like that again, and there will be bloodshed.” She paused for maximum effect. “Yours. Not mine.”

  His arms dropped to his sides, and she could have sworn a growl resonated from his body. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Elle held her ground. She’d be damned if she let him intimidate her. The air rushed from his lungs in rapid, shallow bursts. She locked her gaze with his. How, she didn’t know, but the sage green color of his eyes had changed, deepened into a glistening emerald. The energy spiked between them like a crackling experiment in static electricity. Her nipples pebbled to hard, sensitive points that rubbed against the leather of her top with every labored breath. Damn. How did the switch inside her get tripped, taking her from pissed-off to aroused-as-hell in an instant?

  A horn blew, and Elle jumped. Both swung their heads in the direction of the oncoming headlights and then hustled the rest of the way across the street. Arran’s boots beat the pavement behind her.

  After popping the lock on her car with the remote, she opened the door, and sank into her seat behind the wheel. Less than two seconds later, Arran joined her in the passenger seat. The cushion released a sigh under his weight as he sank onto the soft leather. His door slammed shut with an ominous thud.

  Breathe. That’s all she had to do. Breathe and find something other than him to look at. She studied the line of parking meters and streetlamps out her window, both hands resting on the steering wheel. Arran was sitting in her car. Wonder what shade of green you’d call that on the meters? If she looked at him, it would be too real. Larger than life. And she didn’t know what—or how—to feel about that yet.

  The shuffle of their boots and the squeak of leather became the only sound between them. Elle reached into her purse and dug around on the bottom until she found a peppermint. She really didn’t like the taste of beer. The noise of the wrapper uncoiling off the candy felt magnified times ten within the tension of the car. She popped the mint into her mouth and rolled the sweet candy around on her tongue—waiting. The unnerving silence blossomed like a building thunderhead, threatening to crash down around them.

  This was a serious mistake.

  Someone had to go first and end the stalemate and she was more than ready for him to get to the point about what was so damn important. Inhaling deeply, Elle shifted in Arran’s direction. Her fist clamped down on the steering wheel, and her teeth grabbed hold of her lower lip. Arran sat with his back pressed against the passenger door, as if he couldn’t get enough distance between them. In the darkness of the car, his eyes glowed with a fiery ring around them. One hand clutched the dashboard hard. The veins in his arm stood out in sharp relief in the shadows underneath the windshield. His other arm wrapped around the back of the seat. The position pulled the bottom edge of his shirt up and revealed a ripple of flat abs and a dark trail of hair that disappeared into his jeans. Dear God. Moisture soaked the lining of her panties, and her thighs trembled.

  He was delicious.

  And the most lethal thing she’d ever seen.

  For the past two years, she’d been working on putting her life back together after he’d torn it apart. She would never be that vulnerable again. Elle crossed her legs on her desire and cleared her throat.

  “Okay.” She lifted her hands and indicated the closed interior of the car. “Is this private enough for what you have to say?” Silence. He watched her. Watched her with what resembled—hunger—in his eyes. Her stomach quivered under the intensity of his stare. “What!” She couldn’t help but shout. He was making her crazy.

  “You can’t be here.” The w
ords were a declaration—a command on his part. But the sound that followed them was something closer to a groan. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the window.

  “Arran. Talk to me. You know something that you’re not telling me. What’s going on in this town?” She glanced over her shoulder at Wicked Ways. “This club.”

  “Why don’t you answer my question?” He lifted his head and opened his eyes, the crazy ring of fire gone from around the irises. “I did ask first.” He tilted his head and leaned in. His right arm slid farther across the dashboard as his hand squeezed into a fist. “What are you doing here—alone—in a goth club, for Christ’s sake?” With his other hand, he ran his palm over his hair; the cross at his ear swaying from the movement.

  Maybe she should just tell him. He apparently knew more about this place than she did, and he might know something about Alex. Or have at least seen her. “Fine.” She rubbed the spot between her eyes with her fingers. “I’m here looking for information about my sister. She’s missing.”

  “And she was last seen here?” Arran’s eyes widened as he eased back in his seat.

  Fear and nausea coiled in her stomach. She didn’t like the look on his face or the sound of that question. “Not exactly. One of her neighbors, a college kid, said he’d seen her here about three weeks ago. I thought it was odd. Alex always had her head on straight, and I couldn’t imagine this being a scene she was into. So I decided to check it out, ask around, and see if anyone recognized her photo.”

  “What?” He shot forward in his seat. “You showed her picture around in there?” With a curse, he scrubbed a hand over his face and fell back onto his seat.

  “Of course I did. What’s the problem?” The knot of anxiety, growing in her throat, threatened to choke her.

  “The problem is…” He swiveled his head in her direction. “Your sister walked into a colony. They’re not just playing dress up in there, Gabrielle. The humans who aren’t minions inside those doors don’t have a clue what kind of evil they’re dancing with. And now you’ve brought attention to yourself and your sister. If something happened to her there, they now know someone’s looking for her.”