by J. A. Saare
Jonny would never forgive or forget Sirah's death.
He would never submit.
Then there was the issue of Marius, who had been created by Revenald. Marius had been in love with Disco long before he'd turned him. He'd hoped that one day the object of his obsession would reciprocate the feeling. Instead, Disco had found me. Needless to say, when Marius and I met for the first time, we were threatened by each other.
He hated me, and I hated him.
It was loathing at first sight.
But the heart wanted what it wanted.
Neither of us could help that.
Despite that, Marius couldn't be anywhere near Disco or the family once ties were severed. Revenald was a half-demon, and he had created Marius. Their connection was different due to that, far more powerful and absolute. That's how Disco had managed to kill more than three-quarters of the half-demon population in New York, establish a name, and strike a deal with Bane. He'd honed into the minds of those connected to half-demons, absorbed and exploited the information, and took them down when the time was right. Verbal contact with Marius might happen, but I didn't expect more to transpire.
Face-to-face meetings were a huge no-no.
I didn't know how Marius would take that.
Disco's creator would want to see his child up close and in person. I remembered how Marius appreciated and enjoyed touching my lover. He'd caressed Disco in a way that reeked of ownership and possession. The first time I'd seen it, I'd been shocked. Disco wasn't bi-sexual and only felt an attraction to women.
Thinking back on the moment, recalling him stroke Disco's neck before gliding his fingers down to the area above my lover's heart, I wanted to rip Marius's hand from Disco's body. If I could turn back the clock, I'd march inside Disco's office, plant my fist in Marius's face, and make sure he was well and good on the goddamned ground. Then I'd tell the fucker that the vampire he wanted had already been claimed.
If wishes were horses.
I hadn't spoken with Marius since Marigold had possessed my body to go on a gory rampage—demolishing Sirah and almost killing Jonny on her journey—and wiped the floor with his ass. The male's jealousy ran deep. I got that because my jealousy did as well.
He posed a danger to what I considered mine and mine alone.
In that way, I was very much like the Gabriel and Disco personas. Gabriel wouldn't willingly sacrifice his queen. Neither would Disco. Each identified me in the same manner. That was the ultimate endgame for the Master of New York. He'd work out kinks in his strategy later.
As the memory faded, my temper cooled.
Marius, while equally intelligent, would play recklessly. He'd know he'd fucked with a player beyond his skill level. He'd never capture his most precious king in the way he'd planned. No matter how hard he tried to conjure a relationship with Gabriel into being, Marius would never make it so. I didn't want to imagine being on the opposite side of that coin. It had to sting like a bitch when you ached for something you could never have.
"Are you sure?" I asked. Disco couldn't lie to me. Despite shielding his dark emotions and responses through our mark, I would feel the certainty of his answer.
He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, his gaze intent. "I'm sure."
He doesn't want to lose me. He'll do anything to prevent it.
"Okay." He needed reassurance, especially now, and I was the only one who could give it to him. I brought our entwined hands to my mouth and breezed my lips over his knuckles. "When?"
His expression changed, his furrowed brows easing apart and softening. I felt a gentle stirring in my chest as he cautiously reestablished our emotional ties. I wasn't sure I wanted him to. Six months of vampire servitude had one hell of a learning curve. There was still fury wafting from him, as well as the threat of potential aggression, but he managed to override those emotions with adoration, concern, and determination to keep me safe.
"Soon," he told me quietly and rose, distracting me by putting his form in motion and bringing attention to it. He had the ability to move so quickly it seemed his entire body shifted yet remained still. "You need to get some rest."
He didn't seem to care about the foul odor emanating from me. He placed one arm under my shoulders and slipped the other beneath my legs, ensuring I was secure before he moved me. He lifted me like I weighed no more than air, shifting my weight in his arms with caution and care. I lifted my hands, placed them around his neck, and held on tight. Despite the scent of blood and death on his clothing, I leaned into him.
"We'll figure this out, love." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. He sent me a mental picture of our destination. I knew I was safe the instant he started walking. He was taking me home. "We'll do it together."
While he meant it, I wasn't sure such a thing was possible. He'd do everything in his power to help me, but it might not enough.
Love and devotion were tricky in that way.
Willing something to be didn't necessarily make it happen.
The road to Hell was often paved with good intentions.
Chapter Four
It hadn't taken as long as I thought to recover from the attack—twenty-four hours give or take. I wasn't certain of the exact time frame as periods after Marigold's mind warps consisted of intermittent waking to take care of bodily functions before I crashed again. I yawned and stretched as I opened my eyes, placing my arms above my head as I extended my legs. I brought a hand to my face and was immediately greeted by a clump of hair against my forehead.
Totally shitastic.
The strands were fucked-up beyond recognition.
No biggie. Not in the grand scheme of things.
My messy hair could be easily remedied with a brush.
At least I didn't stink.
Disco had taken me to the boat immediately after our ordeal. When he'd carried me beyond the bed to the bathroom, I'd protested and argued. At that point, I'd only wanted to rest. He hadn't listened, ignoring my complaints when he'd stripped us both, helped me into the small shower, and got me clean. He knew the fragrance of Hell made sleep uneasy after my second attack. Afterward, he toweled me off, brushed out my hair, stroked my bare body, and tucked me into bed.
The memory felt like it had happened ages ago, but it had taken place within a day. He'd know the moment I woke since he monitored my sleep after Marigold's memories had send me to places I didn't want to be, ensuring he could take over my mind if he had to. I sensed him nearby. It was also nighttime. He'd be below deck otherwise. That meant he was in the middle of something, probably some sort of repair on the boat. Problems didn't happen often but, when issues arose, he took care of them immediately. I wasn't good at that kind of thing, much like many others.
I could use the mark to get an idea of what he was doing.
He told me he didn't care if I knew what he was up to when we were at home, so he wouldn't mind. Still, as much as I wanted my freedom, I respected his. I thought that in the last few months, he'd started to understand.
I closed my eyes and stayed still.
I heard waves but didn't detect steady rocking.
I didn't know how close we were to land.
He'd have left port and set sail as soon as I'd drifted to sleep, but he didn't venture into open water anymore. Not since we'd struck a deal with Bane. He needed to be available when he had to be. It was part of the deal. They'd be working together now. For that reason, we had to be close to the harbor and those we'd meet soon enough.
"There you are." As soon as he spoke in my head, I knew I'd gotten his full attention. "How do you feel?"
"Better." I pulled the tangled blankets from my body and winced when I sat up. I must have landed in awkward position when I collapsed. "A bit sore."
"Are you hungry? I made chicken and rice for you."
He was aware I'd missed more than one meal and would be ravenous, but it was more than that.
He was hungry as well.
It wasn't that he was merely looking out for him
self.
He'd fled New York knowing he could starve. I didn't know about his eating habits until we fled his domain. Not because of him, either. I hadn't wanted to know. He'd held back his needs when we'd ditched the limo that brought us to safety, made it to the boat, and set sail.
At that time, locked in my own wretched headspace, he'd focused entirely on me. I wasn't fair to him. I'd been selfish.
He'd suffered an extreme loss just like I had.
In my defense, I'd cried a lot, unable to contain the raw emotion cascading through me. Though he didn't agree with my mental assessment, telling me I wasn't the only one to shoulder the blame, he discovered I would never accept what happened wasn't entirely my fault.
Even now, I felt consumed by self-loathing.
He'd taken my moods with kindness and grace, accepting I had to grieve in my own way. When the tears dried up, I'd finally been able to think about what had transpired. It took a couple of days, but I shook off some of my trauma and focused on what my lover had been dealing with.
He looked haggard and exhausted when I'd actually looked at and saw him. My emotions had swiftly changed. He hadn't cried since he'd witnessed Paine's death, but I experienced and endured the sheer agony of his loss through our connection. The weeping wound wasn't mine—it was his—which made it even more unbearable. Feeling that and knowing it for fact, I stopped being a whiny baby and turned protective, much as he had with me initially. His pain and welfare had become my only concern. I didn't care about the rest.
That first week on the water had been a true discovery.
We had really understood each other.
Then, after a little over a week, he'd roused me with a hand cupping the apex between my thighs. I'd felt his fangs scrape against my throat, groaning as I anticipated the absolute bliss that awaited me. The razor-like tips had broken the flesh like a branch slapping delicate skin, so fast you barely noticed, bringing drops of blood to the surface in a way I hadn't anticipated. In an instant, he'd bathed the skin clean, licking away the thick pearls and pulling them into his mouth. Then he'd peered down at me, his thick brows slanting as the sharp edges of those lethal teeth rested against his bottom lip. He showed them to me during sex, but never like that.
Not with that kind of meaning.
Never before with that kind of intent.
When he'd pulled back, studying me with a level and cautious gaze, gauging my response to his hunger, I'd finally noticed the changes that came from his lack of sustenance. His body had gotten colder and, when I placed my hand on his bare chest, I couldn't detect the pounding of his heart. I'd panicked when I realized that, terrified it had stopped. He'd placed his fingers over mine, trapped my palm against his chest, and met my eyes as though trying to calm me. When a thump finally came, the pulse felt slow and tiny. When I'd made the connection and confronted him, he'd confirmed the obvious.
He couldn't hunt when he wasn't on land.
I was his primary blood source.
He needed to feed and keep up his strength.
His well-being was important.
"I am hungry, but it can wait," I answered and reached for the corrupt hair on my head. Fuck me, the gnarled strands were awful. Some of the length was fine, but there were portions full of brambles. I'd need a bottle of conditioner to sort the tangles. He wouldn't care about that, wanting only to be with me. Knowing what he needed, wanting to give it to him, I thought, "I need your help. I want a shower."
"Don't move." He got my meaning and put down whatever he was doing. I sensed him staring into the distance. The mark instantly widened, bringing our emotions and feelings closer together. I scented the chilly evening air in his nostrils, aware of the smog in the distance. Then I felt a heavy thrum in his body. His arousal swept through me and stoked my desire. There was a definite warning of what was to come when he informed me, "Be ready for me. I'll be right there."
I knew what that meant and the lover I was dealing with.
I pushed the blankets aside and moved to the center of the bed. I lifted my knees slightly, parted my legs, and closed my eyes. Amazing how time changed things. I was once embarrassed by this.
Gabriel was selfish in one way, not that I'd complain.
He expected to go down on me before we exchanged blood or engaged in intercourse. I'd learned through our connection he truly enjoyed it. A woman allowing a man complete access to the most sensitive part of her body came with a huge amount of trust. He wanted me to be ready for him, open and willing, as that was precisely what he had in store. He'd make sure I came good and fucking hard before he fed on me and took me to the bathroom.
I heard the door open but didn't look.
He liked taking me in, knowing I was his.
He'd come to me when he wanted to.
It seemed like minutes went by before the mattress shifted beneath his weight. His chilly palms touched my thighs. I gasped but didn't look at him or buck away. I stayed entirely still and submitted. When the vampire I adored issued orders, he wanted me to listen. He enjoyed the control I gave him. I liked it, too. He fed on my willingness as much as he did my blood. I felt him settle, getting in position as he lifted my knees and put me into place. His cool breath caressed my slit, his mouth hovering directly above my sex.
"Say please," he whispered.
He flicked his tongue over my clit, and I immediately did. "Please."
That was all it took.
His cold hands vanished. Two fingers eased into me to the third knuckle, and he put his lips and tongue into motion. He was an artist and true master in his craft, knowing just what I wanted and liked. Due to the difference in our temperatures, I felt every part of his body when it was placed against my flesh. Since he'd already created and fed my anticipation, we both knew I'd come apart in less than a minute. Sometimes that's how we wanted each other—right away. I peered down at him. As he drew my clit into his mouth and started pumping his hand, I stopped trying to stay still.
I wanted to come now.
He wanted the same.
It only took a few thrusts of his fingers for fire to burst through me, exploding in every nerve ending and spreading over my body. I cried out, grasping his head as I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, lips parted and lids fluttering. He didn't stop. He never did. He made sure I squeezed every last drop from the orgasm, growling as he kept me going. His tongue whipped and slid around, his thick and full fingers thrusting against my tender flesh until he heard me sigh and relax. He inched up a bit as he pulled his hand away, nuzzled my lower stomach, and kissed the scars there. He gave my belly button a playful nip before he moved down again.
His chin nudged my thigh.
Although I was totally relaxed, I drew a deep breath as I shifted my hips and let my knee fall to the bed. He could change this part of things if I wanted. He could build up my pleasure and make it a helluva lot easier for me. He didn't drink from me as much as he should because he knew the act caused pain. What I hoped he'd eventually understand was the agony of his bite had to be felt for me to fully appreciate why it was happening. I wanted to know why he was doing it and why I was letting him. Without the hurt, the significance of the act would change. His feedings would become nothing more than pleasure shared during sex.
I felt the sharp scrape of his fangs and clenched my teeth.
The bite would sting, but I wouldn't complain.
When his teeth sank into my skin, striking hard and deep, I didn't make a sound. I'd learned how to brace myself not to do so. He eased his fangs from my flesh as soon as blood flowed, hurrying to take sustenance, which was always a welcome relief. The lack of piercing pressure allowed me to breathe easily and enjoy the experience. I brought a hand to his head, basking in the moment, knowing I was the one who gave him life. He could turn to others when we ventured to land, but he didn't. When it came to this, he chose me.
I titled my head on the pillow and gazed down.
He hadn't removed his clothing.
Th
e shirt and pants had seen better days since he used them when he worked on the boat. As much as I loved him in formal attire, viewing him as an ethereal creature from the heavens above, I found him equally attractive in garments that were worn and tattered. He was like something from a dream, all wild and feral, capable of severing heads and ripping apart torsos. He was angel and beast, someone and something that others would fear.
But not me.
If danger came my way, I would dive behind him for protection.
He would die for me, just as I'd sacrifice my life for his.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
His clothing was dry from what I could see, meaning he hadn't been forced to enter the water. He nursed at my skin, drawing deeply and swallowing, taking a part of me that he needed to survive. It had been several days, and he'd endured a lot. I didn't know how much he'd want or need. Because of that, I only waited and observed, knowing he wouldn't harm me, letting him enjoy his meal. Seconds turned into a minute, but I cherished each tiny breath in between, not wanting the moment to end. During times like this, nothing else mattered. There was only him and me. We were a pair that might look like any other yet would never be. We were united in love, grief, and an understanding that could only be felt and never entirely explained.
He moved one of his hands down.
I wasn't sure why until I heard the distinct sound of a zipper.
He wasn't going to take me in the shower.
He wanted me now.
He stemmed the flow of my blood with his tongue. At the same time, he pulled down his slacks and slid the garment from his hips. He didn't lift his blond head as his left arm drifted up and rested beside my body. His torso traveled by my thighs and waist until his head was level with mine. Not that I could see him clearly. He was too busy peering down, watching as he fisted himself with his right hand and put his cock in alignment with my sex. He lodged the broad tip inside, made sure he was in place, and looked at me.
