Vampire Undone. Shannon Curtis

his in a frenzied beat. He kissed her behind her ear, gently raking his teeth against the sensitive curve of her neck. She flinched. Tensed. Then shoved him with enough force that he flew across the room until he hit the kitchen island and fell to the floor.

      She sat up on the table, her eyes glowing silver, as she clutched her neck.

      “You bastard,” she hissed.

      * * *

      How. Dare. He.

      Natalie slid off the table, trying to calm her thumping heart, to wrestle her body under control. Her knees were like jelly and she had to lean back against the table for support. Tension gripped her; she couldn’t identify whether it was fear or desire that made her feel weak. Probably both. She pushed the memories from her mind. That wasn’t now. She wanted to run. She wanted to fight. She wanted to purr. She didn’t know what she wanted.

      “You bastard,” she hissed again. She pulled her shirt down, trying to smooth it over her hips, wishing she could restore order to her pounding heart and desire-drenched body as easily as she did her clothing. Damn it, she hadn’t even thought to use her lariat or the dagger in her boot. Hopeless. She eyed Lucien.

      He shook his head, as though stunned, and eyed the distance between them. “What happened?” he said, his expression confused and maybe a little frustrated. He glanced at the kitchen island that had stopped his flight. A chip of caesarstone fell to the floor.

      “Get out of my house,” she said, her voice hoarse.

      Lucien rose, rubbing the back of his head. He quickly composed himself as he leaned against the kitchen island. “No. You invited me in.”

      He wore that stubborn look that had always struck her as annoying but sweet. Now, though, she didn’t think it was so sweet, just annoying. I invited him in?

      She frowned and opened her mouth to argue, only a faint memory of her panting “yes” stopped her. He had asked, and she’d invited him in. The fact he was inside her kitchen testified to it. Damn it. He’d used her. He’d kissed her, twisted her in knots, just to get his ass inside her home. Once in, you couldn’t evict a vampire. At least, not easily.

      “Nice place,” he said, eyeing the interior of her home casually. He gestured to the frames that could be seen on the hall wall. “The photos are a nice touch.”

      “God, what is it with you vampires that you’ll stoop so low?” she rasped, ignoring his offhand effort at conversation.

      His gaze swept over her, pausing on her hips. “I was prepared to stoop much lower,” he said in a voice that sounded deep, husky and just a little gravelly with tension.

      It brought a tremble to her knees and a catch to her breath as images of what they could be doing right now, if she hadn’t stopped him, flooded her mind as though on a rapidly spinning film reel...along with a good dose of mortification. Damn it. Seriously? This is Lucien. What was wrong with her?

      “I can’t believe you’d be willing to use your body to get what you want, that you would use me,” she said, injecting scorn into her voice, and hoping she could inject her spine with a little bit of steel when it came to Locky-Lips Lucien. She shook her head. “I refuse to be some toy for you vampires to play with and then discard—or kill—whenever it suits you.”

      “I’m not toying with you,” he snapped, bracing his hands on the counter behind him.

      He had the audacity to look offended. She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really? Suddenly, after all these years, you track me down because you actually want...me? You didn’t even know I existed until yesterday. This,” she said, gesturing between them, “isn’t about us. It’s about you, and how far you’ll go to save your sister.” She refused to give in to the hurt. He was playing a game. That’s all this was.

      His lips tightened. “I will do whatever I can to save my sister,” he admitted. He tilted his head. “You would do the same, given the chance.”

      It was like a wave of frigid water sucked her down into a whirlpool—dizzying and frightening and oh, so cold, sucking the energy, the fight, out of her. “I can’t believe you said that to me,” she whispered. “You know better than that.”

      He stepped away from the counter, his frown harsh. “Do I?” He shook his head. “I thought I knew better. I thought you were dead—and you’re clearly not.” He ran his hands through his hair, his fingers tightening in the ebony strands. “My God, Ni—Natalie. I thought I’d lost you.”

      “You did lose me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I know how much your family means to you, Lucien. Maybe this gives you some idea of what I went through.”

      He gaped at her for a moment then stepped closer, his hands at his sides. “Is that what this is about? Revenge? I didn’t do this to you, Natalie.”

      Her smile was brittle as she stepped forward, closing the distance between them until she could look him straight in those gorgeous blue eyes. “I’ll always be here for you,” she whispered, satisfaction coursing through her when she saw him pale as she threw his words back in his face, the way she’d wanted to do for forty years. “I watched my family die, and you were nowhere to be seen, Lucien. Now it’s your turn to watch yours die, knowing someone could have helped but decided not to. Just like you did.”

      “I did not decide to abandon you, Natalie.” His voice was low, like rocks spilling over gravel. “I didn’t know. I was at one of my father’s events.”

      Her lips tightened. His father... She thought Lucien had left Irondell because of her, because of that one stupid, innocent little kiss when she was just a little too drunk and a little less inhibited. Even now, her cheeks warmed at the memory. He’d been such a gentleman, too. Told her that she’d find a guy who was close to her age, and was ready to share with her all the adventures Lucien had already had. That he was too old, too cynical and world-weary for her, but that he loved her—as a friend. And then he’d left. Sure, they’d kept in touch via email—as friends. But every time he’d promised to visit, something always came up, and was always because of his father.

      She’d followed all of his progress, reading anything she could find in the news articles, researching online. He’d been doing well, over there. Away from her. She folded her arms. “Yeah. I know. Looking after your family interests. Sorry, Marchetta. Your trip here was wasted. There is no cure for a werewolf bite, not for a vampire. You should go home and be with your sister.” Her lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “I know how much your family means to you.”

      His brow darkened and she watched the flicker of myriad emotions pass across his face until his expression was once again implacable. “Help me, Natalie. If not for what we once meant to each other, then for the sake of natural curiosity. I at least know that much about Professor Segova—her keen interest in the occult and cultural mythology.”

      So he’d done his research on her, huh? Well, it wasn’t a secret that she loved her work and found it fascinating. She’d even managed to do a couple of field trips to track down arcane objects and sites of significant cultural importance. Then the rest of his words sank in. What they’d once meant to each other? Well, she knew that apparently she’d put more stock into their relationship than he had. She’d call him on it, too, if she could just put voice to those challenging words. What had she meant to him? But then she’d have to hear his response and she wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to have this whole damn conversation with Lucien, quite frankly. She’d drawn a line under that time in her life. All that had died when she had.

      She shook her head, keeping her mouth shut. Just let sleeping dogs lie.

      Lucien sighed and his breath whispered across her cheek. This close, she could feel his warmth, feel the life in his non-dead, too-gorgeous body. “What would it take for you to help me, Natalie?” His voice was soft, almost pleading—well, about as pleading as Lucien Marchetta could get. “Name it.”

      Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer so that only a whisper separated her lips from his. She