Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply(42)

I heard a steel scrape, then clang, clang, clang. Patrick had put his hands on his knees and revealed that he was chained to the wall. The chains, maybe as thick as those that secured bicycles, looked too delicate to hold him. Swirls and weird words emblazoned the silver cuffs.

“You’re a prisoner?” Jessica sounded aghast. “I thought vampires were super-duper strong.”

He chuckled. “We are very strong. But these little beauties”—he shook his arms—“have special charms on them. I cannot break them.”

“Special charms? As in . . .” Jessica wiggled her fingers in a bad sorceress impression.

He nodded. “I had to be bound, love. Because of that ring you’re wearin’.”

On the ring finger of my right hand—well, Jessica’s right hand—was a beautiful silver ring. I looked at it, as if doing so would make it clear why the vampire needed chains to protect him from it. “My claddagh ring?”

“It’s a fede,” said the man. “It’s made from the purest silver and it’s very old.”

• • •

I woke up with my face buried in werewolf thigh. I pushed up and sat back, staring at Drake in shock. My lips felt swollen. “What the hell?”

He seemed dazed. “You . . . were acting out something,” he said weakly. “I’m afraid I had no choice but to . . . do as you wished.” He grimaced as he adjusted himself, and my gaze was drawn to his crotch.

He had a hard-on. A really big, delicious hard-on.

“Wow,” I said.

He looked down, then at me, and sighed. “You were nibbling,” he said. Then his gaze tracked down my arm, to my stinging upraised palm that I rested on my thigh. Did I mention the stinging? He frowned. “You are bleeding.”

My heart was pounding, either from the vision or from lust or from excitement. Maybe all three. I looked at my palm and noted that the first blood sacrifice had been minimal. More like a scratch. But yeah, the wound was still bleeding. I looked at Drake and batted my eyelashes. “Are you going to rip off a piece of your shirt and wrap it around my hand?”

I think my voice held too much hope. Drake offered me a wicked grin and then leaned to the side and dug into his front pocket. “Patsy gave me a handful of Band-Aids,” he said, pulling out said Band-Aids, along with a pack of peppermint gum. “She also wanted me to have fresh breath.”

I laughed. I went to take one of the bandages, but he said, “Nein.”

He chose a Band-Aid, stuffed the rest and the gum back into his pocket, and undid the wrapping, which he tucked into the opposite pocket. Then he put the bandage over my minor wound. He looked at me with that smoky gaze that made my stomach squeeze, and then placed a kiss on top of the bandage. “It is my understanding that kisses help boo-boos heal faster,” he said.

“I’ve heard that, too.” I grinned.

“Any other boo-boos?” he asked in that smoky voice. My thighs shivered.

“I’ll let you know.”

He cocked his lips into a half smile, a reminder that his lips could be on my body anytime.

“So, what do we do now, Moira?”

Well, I had some ideas (see: trembling thighs), but they didn’t involve pyramids, Ancients, or blood. Drake caught on to my line of thought rather quickly. Actually, he was probably already skating in the same direction, waiting for me to catch up.

Here I was, stuck in a pyramid, where my blood would be drained drop by drop, and all I could think about was getting horizontal with Drake. I hadn’t forgotten that he was a werewolf, either. I couldn’t imagine what the sex would be like. Oh, wait. Yes. Yes, I could.

Drake slipped his hand around my neck and leaned close. “For luck,” he whispered. Then he kissed me.

Just one, sweet, soft meeting of lips. A promise, really.

My heart skipped a beat, and I felt lust take flight in my belly. I’d been in relationships. Or tried to be. Not many men in my social circle could understand my archaeological mind-set, much less allow themselves to be put aside so I could constantly go to Egypt. Some had been concerned for my safety, others were under the impression that I needed a reason to stay home (i.e., them), and yet others believed I just needed a man to guide me. And that, of course, was before they understood that I was highly medicated because I had the crazy in me.

So, I guess I mostly dated idiots.

I had a feeling that Drake wouldn’t expect me to be anyone other than myself, and that was a nice thought . . . someone who accepted me for who I was without expectation that I would change to suit him. And he hadn’t seemed to give a rat’s ass about the pills I had to take, either. That was a refreshing change. But maybe parakind was more understanding of humans who were different.