One sip of her blood meant she would live in him for as long as he drew breath. He would be bound to her always, drawn to her always, regardless of any vow she'd made to another male. Even through the smoke and fog of his recovering mind, he could still recall how hard it had been to exercise control where his hunger for Claire was concerned. But he'd been careful. As hard as it was, he'd been a pillar of restraint, right to the end. If he'd known then that she was going to waste so little time giving herself to Wilhelm Roth...? Reichen growled just thinking on it. His fury wasn't so cooled that he didn't entertain the idea of slaking his thirst on her right there and then. He leaned in, unable to tear his hungering eyes away from the rhythmic beat of her pulse. Her scent beckoned him as much as the rush of her blood beneath her skin. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. This close, she robbed him of breath. Made him ache to touch her. Jesus Christ, she made him burn far worse than sunlight or fury. It stunned him to realize that he wanted her still, after all this time. After all her mate had done to destroy him. He wanted Claire for his own... still. Reichen drew in a rough breath of air, his lips peeling back off his fangs. He wanted her, and, by God, he would take her. "No," he growled to himself. "Damn it, no." Claire's eyes snapped open and went wide. She gasped, drawing back as far as she could get from him with the chair blocking her escape.
Her dark brown eyes searched his face, too intelligent to misunderstand what had nearly happened. Reichen mentally yanked himself to heel, despite the hunger that was still making his gums throb with the urge to feed. "Pleasant dreams, Frau Roth?" "Not at all," she answered, staring hard at him. "After what happened here last night, I'm sure I'll be having nightmares for a long time to come." A pang of shame jabbed him, but he ignored it. He had to keep his eye on the ball. "You didn't happen to pay a dreamtime visit to your mate just now, did you?" Claire didn't so much as blink. He could see the recollection in her steady gaze, the realization that although many years had passed since they last saw each other, Reichen had not forgotten her special psychic ability. Her cheeks darkened a bit, and he wondered if she was thinking of all the times she had dreamwalked into some of his most erotic REM fantasies during those intense, passionate few months in which they'd fallen in love. He had not forgotten a single moment they'd shared, awake or joined in dreams, and he had damn sure tried. "Wilhelm doesn't like it when I intrude on his dreams," she murmured. "That's not really a denial," Reichen replied. He kept his hands braced on the arms of the chair, trapping her there while he continued his interrogation. "Where is he, Claire?" "I told you, I don't know." "But you do have some idea," he said, trying not to be distracted by his hunger or his sudden, growing awareness of just how close their bodies were to each other. He could feel her heat mingling with his own, making his healing, irradiated skin feel as though it were being touched by flame.
"Make no mistake, I will find him. The others weren't able to run, nor will he." She looked wary, repelled. "What... others?" "His faithful hounds, the ones who carried out his orders with no regard for innocent lives. I've put them all down, one by one. Not him, not yet. I've saved him for last because I wanted him to know that I was coming. I wanted him to understand that he was going to have to pay for what he did." Claire swallowed, gave a small shake of her head. "What you said last night--that Wilhelm is responsible for what happened to your Darkhaven... you are mistaken, Andreas. You have to be mistaken." "What I said is the truth." "It can't be--" "Why not?" he snapped. "Because that will mean you're mated not only to a known thug but a cold-blooded murderer, as well?" Her slender dark brows came together in an expression somewhere between pity and contempt. "This coming from someone whose own hands are stained with more than a dozen lives?" Reichen reeled back, bristling at the reminder.
He took a few steps away from her, then pivoted to begin a tense pace out of the room. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't damn well care. He knew he couldn't leave the house while it was daylight outside, and right now it felt like a cage. Claire drifted out behind him, her footsteps all but silent on the polished marble floor of the hall. "Andreas, I know you must be terribly hurt and confused after everything you've been through. We can try to sort all of this out later. Right now you need some peace and quiet while your body is healing from the UV burns. You need rest--" "What I need right now is blood," he snarled, swiveling a hard, amber-eyed look on her. "Since you're so reluctant to surrender Roth to me, I don't suppose you'd be willing to let me take my fill of you either." She blanched, appalled, just as he wanted her to be. Reichen continued his impatient prowl of the hallway, noting the assorted photographs and framed art on the walls. With his anger stoked, he looked for images of Claire and Roth, the adoring couple, eager for more kindling for the fury that still burned in his gut. There were only a handful of photos of them together, often among a group of Darkhaven or Enforcement Agency members, or in front of ribbon-cutting ceremonies taking place at various evening events. Claire's smile was perfect in each one: pleasant without being overly excited, polite without being overly cool. Reichen didn't know that smile.
It seemed as polished and brittle as the glass that overlaid it. "Where does Roth conduct his business here?" he asked her, turning away from frozen, perfect Claire to look at the woman who stood behind him now, well out of arm's reach. "If he has computers here, or any type of files, I want to see them." "You won't find anything like that here," she said, simply stated fact. "Wilhelm does all of his personal business from the Hamburg Darkhaven and an office he keeps in the city... as far as I know. We've never discussed his business affairs." Reichen grunted, unsurprised. He was already moving past another room off the hallway, glancing in at the casually sophisticated furnishings of a living room, then passing by an intimate ballroom that seemed a cavern of mirrored walls, polished parquet flooring, and a creamy, elegantly carved ceiling. In back was an ebony grand piano, its multiple reflections gleaming in all the surrounding polished glass. "Good to see some things haven't changed," he muttered. Claire glanced into the ballroom but looked confused. "The piano," he said. "You have a gift for music, as I recall." Her frown faltered slightly as she stared at him. "Oh, I don't... I haven't played in a long time. I suppose I got busy with other, more important things. Music isn't really a part of my life anymore." "No, I guess not," he said, aware of how caustic it sounded. "Is there anything left of you that I would remember, Claire?" A long silence spread between them. Reichen expected her to walk away, or maybe run away, out the front door and into the daylight where he couldn't follow. But she stood her ground, pierced him with her deep brown eyes. Tenacious as ever. "How dare you. I didn't ask you to storm into my life and tear it apart, but here you are. I don't have to explain anything to you, or justify where life has taken me." No, she didn't, and he knew he was being unfair here. Having those answers wasn't going to bring him any closer to Wilhelm Roth, either. Not that any of those arguments meant a damn thing when Claire was just an arm's length away from him and seething with an anger he'd seldom seen in her but rightly deserved. "We both moved on, didn't we, Andre?" "You certainly did." "What did you expect me to do? You were the one who left, remember?"