Newborn

PART THIRTY

There was no hesitance. No delay. Before I knew it, his expert hands were lifting my shirt and I was wearing nothing but my red bra.

I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to feel his lips against mine and taste the desire I could sense in our blood-bond. He lifted his hips aggressively and pressed against me with unrelenting need. I was struggling to find a single coherent thought.

My mind was focused on him and how good he felt wrapped around me. I lifted my head from his neck and could feel his blood dripping from my chin as I met his gaze, and then stared longingly at his lips.

Just as I leaned in, and my lips skimmed against his, the front door flew open.

I spun around in surprise, only to see Noah and a strange man staring back at me. He was lean and had long, dirty blonde hair that was pulled back into a ponytail.

As his dark gaze lowered, it occurred to me that I was in my bra. I could feel the shock on my face as I rolled off my Maker and grabbed my shirt, swiftly slipping it back on. Darien was much more nonchalant as he sparked up a clove cigarette.

"Seriously, does anyone knock around here?" He exhaled clouds of smoke.

"It's the lounge room," Noah retorted. "I don't typically knock when entering my own home."

"Well, you should because you never know when I'll be in here—err—teaching Helena how to make a clean bite." He shrugged his shoulders.

The stranger held up his hands. "Hey, you don't need to explain yourself to me, I'm not judging." He stared between us before he continued. "If you walked in on me while I was with a woman, you'd see all kinds of questionable things taking place."

My Maker adjusted himself before he stood. He glanced over at me and gestured I come closer. "Helena," he said. "This is one of my dearest friends, Deacon Mc'Callister. Deacon, this is my progeny, Helena."

We shook hands but then he looked strangely at Darien.

"Progeny?" he repeated, shaking his head. "You kinky bastard!"

I looked at him again, noticing now that he kind of resembled an eighties rock star in his getup—combat boots, with black skinny jeans, and an oversized punk T-shirt with a large leather jacket that had studs on the shoulders.

Darien smirked, his cigarette lodged between his lips as he muttered, "Wouldn't you if she was your progeny?"

It occurred to me then that they were talking about having sex with me.

I folded my arms over my chest as I remembered that it was considered scandalous for a maker to bed his progeny. Deacon, however, seemed very relaxed with the idea as he eyed me. "Progeny, sister, grandma . . ." he said, and my Maker actually laughed.

If I hadn't of witnessed it firsthand, I wouldn't have believed that that lively, musical tune had left my Maker's cold lips.

Noah seemed unimpressed as he glanced between us all. "Darien." His tone was low and serious. "Can I speak to you for a moment . . . in the kitchen?"

Darien seemed hesitant but reluctantly told us that he'd be back as he followed behind Noah.

Deacon and I stood awkwardly before he broke the silence. "Sooo," he said, dragging out the word. "I dunno you but do you wanna eavesdrop? 'Cause they're in there talking about at least one of us. If not both of us."

"Sure." I smiled at him.

In time, we both moved toward the archway. He could have probably taken the other side, but instead, he chose to stand behind me, so his junk was awfully close to my ass. I ignored it as I leaned forward and tried to listen to whatever was being said in the next room. They spoke in low tones, making it difficult to hear, but eventually, Deacon stopped breathing loud and I could make some stuff out—kind of.