Grace by Mina Carter Page B

pleased I am to see you.”
    “Oooh, tough talk. You man enough to back up your words?”
    “You want me to stop this car and bend you over the hood to fuck you?” he asked, slowing the car to a crawl as the van in front slowed.
    “Great,” he muttered, “Some people should really learn how to damn drive.”
    “Rawr. Scary Jaron.” Grace giggled, still curled up around him as she kissed along his neck. Kisses interspersed with little nips from her blunt human teeth. His eyes rolled back in his head, pleasure exploding through him at the sensation.
    “Harder.” His demand was a ragged whisper filled with dark need. Not until she complied with his request did he realise how dangerous a game they’d begun. Just one proper bite and he’d lose control. He slammed his foot on the brake and grabbed her hand.
    “Holy shit, Grace; you’ll be the death of me.”
    He locked gazes with her, her hand caught in his between them. His body was rigid as he fought for control. All he wanted to do was drag her into his arms, press her lips to his throat and make her bite him again. Damn it, why shouldn't he? Hadn't he spent enough time alone?
    But before he could move a muscle the door was wrenched open and a harsh voice said, “We can do this the easy way or the painful way. Personally, I prefer the second but it’s your call.”
    ***
    Grace trembled and fought back the terror, the hysteria that had closed off her throat, making it almost impossible to breathe, to speak.
    Before either could react, she and Jaron had been dragged from the car. Jaron had tried to fight but there had been too many of them and there wasn't much arguing anyone could do against a crowbar. Her initial thought—that they were being car-jacked—faded into fearful confusion when they'd been tied up and bundled into one of the vans.
    Grace flicked Jaron a worried glance. Slumped next to her with his head back against the wall, he seemed barely conscious. They'd hit him hard. Heavy purple bruising was already spreading along his temple and the side of his face. Grace winced just to look at it. It had to be painful.
     
    Jaron felt like a damn fraud, leaning against the wall doing a dying duck act. Sure his head ached; it took a hell of a blow to bruise a vampire. A blow like that would have crushed a human’s skull. Luckily, the thugs that had picked them up and brought them to this place—an abandoned warehouse, by the looks of it—were none too bright. At least two of them were high on something; he could smell the chemical sweetness in their sweat.
    He groaned and opened his eyes, meeting Grace’s worried gaze and feeling more of a fraud. He could end this in around ten seconds flat. The ropes around his wrists wouldn’t hold the weakest youngling, not even a new convert, never mind a five-hundred-year-old vampire. But despite the fact he could shred them like paper, something far stronger held him captive.
    Fear.
    No human could rip ropes like paper. No human would be able to take on seven heavily armed thugs. Hell, no human should have survived that blow with the crowbar but, thankfully, Grace didn’t know how hard he’d been hit. And the thug who’d hit him was one of the users. He’d just looked at the crowbar and shrugged. It had taken all Jaron’s control not to just rip his throat out and end it there and then.
    But then Grace would know what he was; or at least she’d know what he wasn’t . Jaron smiled at her, a weak smile to go along with his play-acting. She was so worried about him; concern and something else shone in her eyes. Something he didn’t want to recognise, but he did, the emotions in the forefront of her mind.
    Love. She loved him.
    Guilt twisted in his gut like a knife. She loved him, she was worried about him. And he was lying to her about who he was. What he was. But he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Once she knew he was a monster, her love would die. She would run. Leave him as Julia had.
    “Are you ok?”