A thirst he knew only one woman would ever truly sate.
Unfortunately, he was Breed, and regardless of what - or whom - his heart craved, his body had needs that could not be ignored. He couldn't recall precisely the last time he'd fed. Too long by far, based on the savage state he was in now.
Kellan stalked up the dark hallway of the old fort, snarling and ripe with aggression. If it were nightfall outside, he'd break for the city and run until exhaustion purged the worst of his dual fevers. Hunting for a blood Host was easy in the thickly settled neighborhoods of Boston and its surrounding boroughs. No trick at all to find a willing and able human vein, even under the strict feeding laws and curfews imposed since First Dawn.
But it was morning beyond the thick cement walls of his rebel lair.
And he knew damn well the wait until sunset would be a torment he couldn't withstand. Not so long as Mira was under the same roof.
Not so long as everything savage and inhuman within him was hammering with the demand to seek her out again. To take her.
To keep her as his own, regardless of the hell they would both be forced to pay in the end.
He let a growl roll through his teeth and fangs as he headed for the main area of the bunker. Up ahead, he heard the soft drip of water in the shower room, the shuffle of bare feet on a wet concrete floor.
Kellan glanced inside as he reached the open entryway. Candice was seated on a stone bench in the dressing area, combing out her wet black hair. Her skin was damp under her white V-neck T-shirt, the ink of her many tattoos bleeding through the thin fabric. She glanced over her shoulder at him as he paused in the doorway.
Hazel-green eyes met his amber gaze and went wide for a second. She saw his hunger. She understood. She always had. With a mild nod, she set down her comb and made room for him beside her on the bench.
Kellan hesitated, knowing this wasn't what he wanted, not really.
Candice knew that too. He saw the understanding in her gentle eyes as she watched him hesitate at the threshold of the room. She knew what he wanted, and from whom, and yet she still gave him a compassionate smile.
She held her hand out to him, as she had so many times before.
Kellan exhaled a ragged breath.
Then he stepped inside.
Chapter Ten
FOR LONG MOMENTS AFTER KELLAN LEFT, MIRA DIDN'T SO much as move.
Confusion rooted her bare feet to the floor. Hurt made it hard to breathe for the ache in her breast. And all the while, her pulse was still thrumming, her body still warm and vibrating with futile, foolish desire.
Don't let me make a bad situation worse.
Kellan's rejection stung, more than she wanted to acknowledge.
So, that's all she was to him now - a bad situation that was likely to turn worse?
She didn't want to believe that. His eyes had told a different story, full of amber heat and raging need. So did his body, hard with desire, dermaglyphs lit up like fireworks, his powerful hands trembling when he'd set her away from him and told her it couldn't be.
It was his words that left no room for error.
He didn't want her.
It should have been enough, him telling her he would not have her. He could not let himself feel anything for her, despite the fact that their kiss had lost none of its fire in the time they'd been apart. Or that they still went up in flames for each other with the slightest touch. Still craved each other with a passion that defied even Kellan's iron will.
It should have been enough. It should have relieved her, giving her the chance to put him into an emotional compartment where he belonged: as her enemy. It should have provided some much-needed clarity about her duty as a warrior and her mission to ensure Jeremy Ackmeyer's safety versus her impossible wish to see Kellan somehow brought back into the fold with the Order.
Total fantasy, that.
And yet there was a part of her that refused to let him go, even now.
Especially now.
It outraged her that he could just walk away from her and assume she'd accept it. Still pushing her away, the same way he'd done as that sullen, broken thirteen-year-old boy who'd arrived at the Order's compound so full of pain and grief over the loss of his parents and kin. She hadn't stood for that then, at age eight, and she sure as hell wasn't about to stand for it now.
Mira glared at the closed door he'd stormed out of a few moments ago.
She thought about how hastily he'd gone - so hastily, she hadn't heard the lock tumble into place behind him. She crossed the floor and tried the latch. It was open.
Holy shit.
A number of choices presented themselves to her in rapid succession. One, she could simply stay put like he expected her to and fume until he decided what to do with her next. Which totally wasn't happening.
Two, she could consider his rejection a gift to her mission objectives and attempt an immediate escape with Jeremy Ackmeyer. A risk, considering she and her human package would have to get past Kellan and all of his well-armed rebel crew.
Or three, she could go after Kellan right now and make him face her. Force him to tell her that he cares nothing about her anymore, or if he does, then make him explain to her why he won't try to fix things so they could try to renew what they once had together.
No contest. She was taking Door Number Three.
Mira had years of practice pulling Kellan out from behind the walls he'd constructed around himself. She wasn't about to give up now.
She quickly tossed on his sweatpants under the oversized T-shirt she'd slept in, then slipped out the door and into the hallway outside.
The bunker was very still, little sign of early morning activity at this end of the stronghold. Mira headed in the direction she recalled would lead her to the base's main room, where she assumed she might find Kellan. Worst case, if she ran into one of his crew instead, they would no doubt immediately summon their leader to her.