A Hunger Like No Other Read Free Page A

eyes narrowed, she thought he was about to demand “key” again, but he studied the door lever and gave it back to her. “You do it.”
    With a shaking hand, she slid it in. The mechanized buzz and then the click of the lock were like knells to her.
    Once inside her room, he checked every inch of it as though to make sure she was in fact alone. He searched under the brocade-covered bed, then tore back the heavy silk drapes to reveal one of the best views in Paris. He moved like an animal, with aggression at every turn, though she’d noticed he favored one leg.
    When he slowly limped to her in the hallway, her eyes widened and she eased backward. Still he continued toward her, studying her, weighing . . . before his gaze settled on her lips.
    â€œI’ve waited a long time for you.”
    He continued to behave as if he knew her. She would never forget a man like him.
    â€œI need you. No matter what you are. And I’ll wait no longer.”
    At his baffling words, her body inexplicably softened, relaxing. Her claws curled as if to clutch him to her, and her fangs receded to ready for his kiss. Frantic, she rapped her nails against the wall behind her and tapped her tongue against her left fang. Her defenses remained dormant.She was terrified of him. Why wasn’t her body?
    He placed his hands against the wall on either side of her face. Unhurriedly, he leaned in, brushing his mouth against hers. He groaned from the small contact and pressed harder, flicking her lips with his tongue. She froze, not knowing what to do.
    Against her mouth, he growled, “Kiss me back, witch, while I decide if I should spare your life.”
    With a cry, she moved her lips against his. When he stilled completely as if to force her to do all the work, she slanted her head and brushed his lips lightly again.
    â€œKiss me like you want to live.”
    She did. Not because she wanted to live overmuch, but because she thought he would make sure her death was slow and torturing. No pain. Never pain.
    When she darted her tongue against his as he had done to her, he groaned and took over, cupping her neck and head so he could hold her as though for the taking. His tongue stroked hers desperately, and she was shocked to find it was . . . not unpleasant. How many times had she dreamed about her first kiss, even knowing she would never receive one? But she was. Now.
    She didn’t even know his name.
    When she began shivering again, he stopped and broke away. “You’re cold.”
    She was freezing. Being low on blood did that to her. Being tackled into the wet earth and soaked through hadn’t helped. But she feared that wasn’t why she shivered. “Y-yes.”
    He raked his gaze over her, then gave her a disgusted look. “And filthy. Mud all over you.”
    â€œBut you . . .” She trailed off under his lethal glare.
    He found the bathroom, yanked her inside, then tilted his head at the fixtures. “Clean yourself.”
    â€œP-privacy?” she croaked.
    Amusement. “You have none.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his muscled arms, as if awaiting a show. “Now, undress for me and let me see what’s mine.”
    Mine? Bewildered, she was about to protest again, but he jerked his head up as though he’d heard something, then bolted out of the room. She slammed the bathroom door, locking herself in—another laughable gesture—then turned on the shower.
    She sank down on the floor, head in her hands, and wondered how she would get away from this lunatic. The Crillon boasted foot-thick walls between the rooms—a rock band had stayed next door to her and she’d never heard them. Of course, she didn’t envision calling for anyone— never scream for a human’s help —but she was contemplating digging her way out through the bathroom wall.
    Soundproof walls, ten floors up. The luxurious room