Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night. Jennifer Armintrout
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He slid one hand down the length of her body, bunching the white satin of her nightgown higher by fractions, revealing the tight, olive-tinged skin over her thighs. He danced his fingers from her hip to her knee, watching her face for any flicker of change. “Can you feel that?”
She moaned a little and gave a nod, and relief clutched in his chest. The car accident that had paralyzed her while they’d been in pursuit of the Oracle had at first left her with no feeling below the waist. The doctors who’d examined her in Italy had warned him that the loss of sensation might be permanent, and Max, stupid, stupid man that he acknowledged he was, had only been worried about whether or not she would be able to have sex again. He knew he wouldn’t want to live a life condemned to never getting off again, that was for damned sure.
Luckily, they’d already discovered that wouldn’t be a problem for her.
Moving her legs gently apart, he pushed the nightgown to her waist. Her fingers worked fast, undoing the button and then the zipper of his jeans, letting him spring eagerly into her soft, warm hands. He almost came right then, just from being touched after so long. “I have to be inside you,” he groaned, and she whimpered her agreement into his ear as he leaned over her. The tip of his cock was poised, trembling, at the glistening pink core of her and he pushed in, taking it slow, just a centimeter at a time it seemed. So painstakingly slow that he ground his teeth to keep from ramming hard into her. It took more willpower than he’d known he had to ignore her pleas to go faster. There was no way he was going to mess this up, not after the wait he’d had. Just a few moments more and he’d be home, encased in her sweet, clutching body. All he needed was infinite patience…
A voice and violent banging on the door brought everything to a crashing halt.
Infinite patience, and for all of his in-laws to die in a horrible explosion that rained body parts all over the picturesque Italian countryside.
“Oh, no,” Bella said softly, though her voice held more disappointment at the interruption than dismay over the words muffled by the door. “My father needs to see you.”
“Now?” He thought they called Italian a romance language. Words to summon him away from imminent sexual pleasure shouldn’t even exist in it.
Bella gave him a sympathetic nod and he reluctantly withdrew, reminding himself firmly that grown men do not cry. “Fine. Tell this guy I’m on my way.”
If there was one thing he’d learned about pack life, it was that when the paterfamilis called, you answered, or else…well, there was no “else.” You just did it.
Bella yelled something to the door, and the banging stopped. “You should hurry. He is not in a pleasant mood lately.”
“I wonder why,” Max muttered, pulling her nightgown down so that she was decently covered again. He let his hand linger a moment on her stomach, which had been flat before and now bowed just slightly out in a hard little bump. It was hard to imagine a whole person fitting in there, even one that looked like the tiny shrimp he’d seen on the ultrasound picture.
He stood and zipped his jeans, hoping his erection would calm down, fast. Nothing got on a man’s bad side faster than obvious, physical evidence that you’d just been fucking his daughter. “Do you need anything before I go?”
Bella smoothed her nightgown, repeating Max’s action of petting her stomach. “Send for my cousin. Maybe I will take a walk.”
Max arched an eyebrow at her.
“I will take a wheel, then,” she said with a laugh, and threw a pillow at him as he retreated through the door.
The man waiting outside, a skinny, swarthy guy in a faded Van Halen T-shirt, was a runner, a lower-ranking member of the pack who carried messages for the family. Usually, Max had learned, runners weren’t related to the pack or they were family members in disgrace, and he wondered how long it would be before he ended up an errand boy. “Go get one of Bella’s cousins. She wants some company.”
The man said something that Max guessed sounded affirmative and went off on his way, leaving Max to his awkward visit.
It wasn’t that Max didn’t like Bella’s father. After all, he’d granted Max safe haven and let him stay with Bella. That alone was deserving of eternal gratitude. But the man knew it, and he was definitely going to cash in the eternal gratitude coupon as much as possible. He had also made it clear that Max was staying on a trial basis, and could be kicked out on his half-werewolf ass at any time.
The house—the “den,” as the pack called it—was the kind of place that made Max wish he’d managed his money better, so he could have one all to himself. Not that his digs back in Chicago had been shabby, but this place made the penthouse look like a condemned building full of sick cats. It was built on a cliff overlooking Lake Lugano. From the drive, it appeared to be a long, low, Roman-style villa. For all Max knew, it dated back to actual Roman times. Inside, though, it was way, way bigger, just the tip of an iceberg that carved into the cliff face. Most of the time, you couldn’t tell you were underground, owing to the windows facing out at the lake, but the lowest floor was windowless, the walls unfinished rock. Bella’s father kept his meeting rooms in that section of the house, and there weren’t any elevators, so Max had to trudge down eight flights of stairs, quickly, to get where he was going. The pack leader’s meeting room was kind of a throne room, with guarded doors and all that medieval jazz. He gave his name and waited to be allowed inside.
The smooth marble columns flanking the doorway were the last bit of added ornamentation. The meeting room was a cave. Max couldn’t tell if it was a natural one or if it had been blasted out to accommodate the pack leader. The furniture was comfortable and modern and very European, but moisture trickled down the walls and the whole place definitely smelled like it was underground.
“Ah, Maximilian.” The pack master stood in the middle of the room in his sleek tailored suit, trying hard to look pleased to see his daughter’s vampire boyfriend.
Lupin, Max reminded himself, then struck the word from his mental vocabulary again as Bella had taught him. Vampire-werewolf hybrid.
“Pack Master,” he replied. “You wanted to see me?”
A polite smile creased the man’s face as he crossed the room. He looked oddly similar and at the same time very different than Bella. She’d inherited her father’s exotic, tipped-up eyes, though hers were golden and his gleamed black. His hair was as midnight dark as hers, but it was white at the temples and wavy. Bella’s was as straight as a line. They had the same gestures, which must have been genetic, and the same lithe grace that Max had wrongly assumed all werewolves possessed.
“I did want to see you,” the man said, coming closer. “And call me Julian. We are family now, are we not?”
“We are,” Max agreed. He would agree with anything Julian said, because to disagree might mean banishment, and banishment would mean being apart from Bella, forever. That was something he wasn’t willing to risk.
As if reminded by his own words of their connection, Julian delicately sniffed the air. His expression hardened for a moment, then the mask of expedience glazed his face in false friendship again. “And how is my daughter?”
It was a sick little pleasure, to know the man smelled her on him, to have that sort of olfactory flag to wave and silently shout, “She’s mine now.” But Max kept his features neutral. “Happy. Happier than I think she’s been in a long time.”
Julian nodded. “I will go directly to my point, then.” He hadn’t even asked Max to sit down. “You must return to the United States. Tomorrow.”
Max almost choked on the torrent of curses that rose in his throat. All he managed to say was, “Why?”
With a sympathetic smile, Julian shook his head. “Not forever. Do not despair. But the child my daughter carries is a weapon, as you have said. And the man who desires this weapon is still very likely to come into his power and claim the child.”
Shit.