Seeing him hurt had shaken her badly. His being hit in the eye with earpiece shrapnel had been minor, but it had freaked her out; this was the real thing. The assassin hadn’t been trying to kill him, but she had wanted him down, and if Mo hadn’t used the antitoxin kit on him he would have been left in a coma. The preliminary analysis on the dart was that it was a synthetic toxin that targeted blood vessels in the brain; nervous system injuries were tricky and delicate to heal, and something that extreme would have taken even a Prime a week or better to recover from. A lesser vampire could have been out of commission for more than a month. It would have killed a human in minutes.
Maybe it hadn’t been life-or-death, but feeling his pain and knowing that even the most powerful vampire in the Southern United States could be hurt so badly terrified her beyond rational sense. She wanted to lock the doors, tie him to the bed, and do anything she could to protect him, and therefore herself, from going through that again. Part of her was still so angry at him, yet part of her—a bigger, deeper part that she couldn’t deny—just wanted her husband back and was willing to throw aside everything just to make sure he was safe.
It was so aggravating. She wasn’t ready to stop being upset. She had thought she wanted to hurt him for what he had done to her, but then she realized that was the last thing in the world she could stand to see, and now she was left with a pile of conflicting feelings and the nagging knowledge that she was going to forgive him, even though part of her never wanted to. It offended her knowing that something as cliché as having a soul mate could override her perfectly justified outrage.
Things with Kat were still awkward. Though Faith had made it clear she was happy to listen, Miranda hated to put the Second in the middle of her and David’s relationship troubles. Faith had been David’s friend first, and Miranda could sense she felt conflicted about the situation already. Miranda didn’t know what else to do . . . so, in a fit of desperation for someone to talk to, she finally called Jonathan, and they were on the phone for more than an hour.
“How in hell are you doing it?” she asked.
She could tell he was smiling. “For starters, you can’t compare your coping skills to mine or anybody else’s. Everyone deals with life’s steaming shit piles in a different way.”
“So you’re just . . . okay with the fact that he cheated on you?”
Jonathan chuckled. “There you go again. You forget: We don’t have cheating, because we decided at the beginning that there were going to be other men in our lives. Of course . . .” He paused, then clarified, “I don’t deny I was angry. It shocked me how angry I was, because I thought I was all right with the idea of his taking a lover at some point. It was so hypocritical of me, not to mention totally out of character. But then once we were back home, on familiar ground, I was able to think about it rationally, and I realized the problem was that this wasn’t just some blowjob at the zoo.”
“The zoo?”
“Don’t ask. The point is, I’m not emotionally attached to any of the people I step out with. It’s just sex and we both know it. But whether you or I like it or not, David and Deven love each other, and it’s not going away. We can either accept that and deal with it, or we can wallow in our misery for all eternity. I’m accepting it for two reasons. One, because I love Deven and don’t want to lose what we have. Two, because he’s a recovering Catholic and you wouldn’t believe the guilty mess he’s been, both for damaging y our marriage and for making me upset. He’s spent too much of his life hating himself. I can’t bear to make it worse . . . which goes back to reason number one. I love him. And one way or another, we’re going to work all of this out, as are you.”
Miranda sighed, picking at a loose thread in the throw she’d draped around herself when she flopped on the couch with her phone. “How old do I have to get before I’m as well adjusted as you?”
“It’s a matter of priority. I just know that I want to stay with the love of my life . . . above and beyond the fact that I can’t leave. Technically we could live separately and only see each other every few days when the need gets overwhelming, but it would be an awful existence.”
“Yeah. I tried that. It sucked.”
“My advice is just this: Do what feels right whether it’s ‘appropriate’ or not. Emotions have no manners. They don’t care about what people in relationships are ‘supposed’ to do. You’re not Mr. and Mrs. Solomon living in the Austin suburbs, after all.”
Miranda smiled. “Really, this whole thing is more like a cross between the British monarchy and Dawson’s Creek.”
“Perhaps. In fact, definitely. But after sixty years I can say in all honesty that it’s worth it. Trust me, Miranda. It’s worth it.”
After they hung up she sat staring at the fireplace for a while, digesting everything he’d said. She felt a lot better just having talked to someone; there had been such a weight on her back, and she hadn’t felt comfortable unburdening herself to Kat, or Faith, or anyone. There were some things that only another Consort would understand.
A moment later the suite door opened and David returned from an evening spent in the stables. He looked disheveled but content, and smelled like sweat and horse.
They smiled at each other. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Right as rain,” he replied. “Except I have some news that might not be entirely welcome.”
“Oh, God, what now? Did you hear back from the West about those clients of Volundr’s? Were they all dead ends?”
David shook his head. “Not yet. They’re still questioning them. This is something else.”
“Go on.”
He put his phone on its charging dock and his wallet on the desk in preparation for taking a shower—he knew she wouldn’t let him sit on the couch if he smelled like Osiris. “Another state visit.”
Miranda let her head fall back on the couch. “You’ve got to be kidding. Can’t we put it off?”
“Only if we want the Council to start gossiping. The others will want to know why we’re stalling, then they’ll speculate on what’s going on in our territory . . . they love nothing more than blood in the water. Besides, it would be a breach of protocol.”
“Fuck protocol.”
“I feel the same way, to be honest. But we have to present a strong front.”
“I know, I know. So who is it this time? Someone I’ll have to throw at a wall, or someone else you’ve slept with?”
He looked away when she said that, but said, “Neither. It’s Eastern Europe—Prime Janousek. He’s an ally and a friend, but nothing more.”
She almost felt bad for needling him . . . almost. “No Queen?”
“No. He’s been in power for eighty-seven years, so it’s a bit unusual that he’s still solitary. And a bit sad, because he’s a good man and a solid member of the Council. No real enemies, no drama. He’s a competent ruler and a decent warrior. I think you’ll like him.”
She nodded. “That doesn’t sound too bad. When’s he getting here?”
“Next Monday. He’ll only be here for three days. It should be painless.”
“Let’s not tempt fate by saying that.”
“Good point.” He pulled his sweater off over his head, then the T-shirt underneath. “At any rate, the visits should slow down after he leaves. There are five or six others who will want to come in the next few months, then after that it will probably stop until a full year has gone by.”
“Good,” Miranda said. “I’ve had enough Magnificent Bastards for a while. That will make seven, right?”
David ticked them off on his fingers. “Japan, the Plains region of the U.S., the Middle East, Western Europe, the Northeastern U.S., and the Western U.S., plus Eastern Europe. Seven.”
“And Kelley will probably show up sometime in the middle, right?”
“Most likely. He’s not leaving Chicago until he absolutely has to—the gang war there has been going on for years, and his Court is teeming with strife. I don’t really hold it against
him, although he is a bit of an ass. He’s not nearly as bad as Hart, but he’s been responsible for a lot of the corruption in that city.”
“This Janousek’s territory includes Finland, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. That’s another reason I didn’t try to put him off. There’s a chance he may be able to help us.”
As he spoke he got the rest of his clothes off, and she rested her chin on the back of the couch so she could watch; another downside of sleeping in the mistress suite was not getting to see him naked. Her mind, heart, and body all had differing opinions on how best to proceed with their relationship.
He saw her watching and smiled. “Would you like me to flex something for you?”
She giggled. “Just turn around and go take a shower.”
A few weeks ago that would have been her cue to take off her own clothes and either ambush him in the shower or be waiting in the bed when he came out. Now, though . . . she turned back toward the fire, biting her lip, torn once again. Her body was quite adamant that she should make up for those three weeks of sleeping alone, but . . . all she had to do was close her eyes and think about sex, and that feeling came over her again . . . that night, feeling him with Deven across the Haven, the sensations and satisfaction that had been devoted to her suddenly given to someone else. Could she even lie there with him without thinking about it? Was she doomed to share a bed with Deven forever?
She imagined herself in Jonathan’s shoes, finding most of his sexual enjoyment outside the Haven—perhaps it worked for them, but she couldn’t imagine being happy in that kind of arrangement, knowing that David was out shagging who knew who every night . . . or on the other side of it, being bound to someone she loved so much who just . . . didn’t want her that way. If she held herself apart from David for now, it wasn’t because she didn’t want him, it was because she wasn’t ready to be that intimate again after such an egregious breach of trust . . . or was she? Was she just punishing herself now?
One thing was for sure: Sitting and stewing about it wasn’t helping.
She tossed the blanket aside and left the couch, going over to turn off the lights so the fireplace was the only source of illumination in the room. It was about half an hour before dawn, and she could smell daybreak in the air. The Haven’s shutters had closed thirty minutes earlier—they always closed at least an hour before any trace of sunlight entered the sky. The room was warm and dark with a hint of steam coming from beneath the bathroom door; she could hear the water being switched off as she turned back the comforter and sheets and drew the curtains around the bed so that it was mostly closed off, cavelike, its own little world.
Miranda took off the yoga pants and tank top she usually slept in and climbed in beneath the covers, considering for a moment before pushing the comforter down to the foot of the bed and letting the sheet fall over her as she lay on her side, waiting.
A few minutes later David pulled back the curtain; he had on his bathrobe and his hair was damp. When he saw her he froze.
They stared at each other for a long time; she knew he wanted to ask questions but was afraid to, lest she change her mind about being there. Still, he didn’t move from where he was standing until she deliberately reached over and patted the bed.
The Prime took a deep breath and nodded, then took off his robe and slid in next to her, the flickering firelight making him look even more uncertain than she knew he was. They held each other’s eyes for a long time, neither sure what to do to break the silence.
Miranda understood that he was leaving it up to her. Somehow knowing that made up her mind.
She leaned forward and kissed him very softly on the lips, a light touch, almost virginal. She could feel how much he wanted to simply seize her body and reclaim the ground he had lost, but he held himself back, letting her do what she was comfortable with. So close to perfect, even with his flaws—there was no way in heaven or hell she could ever have hated him, no matter what he did.
She kissed him again, this time more firmly, pausing to run her tongue along his lower lip and then nuzzle the line of his jaw until she reached his ear. She nibbled his earlobe a moment, eliciting a shiver and a sigh, then let her tongue snake out to touch just behind and below his ear, pressing in. He groaned.
She took his shoulders and turned him onto his back, then cast the sheet off her body and let him look at her as she rose up on her knees and tossed her hair back out of the way.
She stretched out over him, propping herself up on her elbows to look down into his face. He smiled and sighed at the touch of her skin, eyes drifting shut.
“These are the first of my terms,” she said. “The rest will be communicated to you as I think of them.”
His eyes flicked open, but he was still smiling. “Go on.”
“Tonight’s is this: If I’m going to sleep in this bed with you, I don’t want to have any unpleasant thoughts or nagging fears keeping me awake. Therefore your task is to make sure I sleep soundly.”
She leaned down and began reacquainting her mouth with his skin; he tasted like clean water, wine, and almond-scented soap. She loved the skin of his throat, especially; she could feel the pulse strong beneath it, harder right now than at rest, and it was sensitive to her nails scratching lightly over it or her teeth finding purchase in the flesh just where neck joined shoulder, leaving a dark purple bruise that faded immediately.
He drew a ragged breath and started to speak, but she wasn’t finished. She laid her hand over his mouth.
“It will be very taxing for you,” she informed him, shifting her hips down slightly to circle against his; she felt how painfully he wanted her, and smiled, continuing. “You’ll have to work long hours and lose sleep of your own. And there will be mornings that I don’t want you to lay a hand on me—somehow you’ll have to find ways to tire me out regardless. It will be quite a challenge.”
She caught and held his eyes. They were glazed with desire, and she knew that at this particular moment articulate speech would not be his strong suit. “Do you accept these terms, my Lord Prime?” she asked, reaching down between them to catch and stroke him until he was panting, tiny sounds of pleasure edged all around with pain escaping him with each breath.
He took a deep breath. “I accept, my Lady.”
“Good. You can start at once.”
“Thank you,” he breathed, and clamped his mouth on hers.
She closed her eyes and let her lips part, allowing his tongue to thrust deep into her mouth, and she sucked on it hard, stealing the breath from his lungs. He grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her back without breaking the kiss, his own hand echoing the motion hers had taken on his body moments ago, but this time pressing in, and in, until she moaned and her back arched off the mattress.
His fingers did a ballet between her thighs, and she pressed her hips up to his palm, whimpering. Meanwhile he lifted his mouth from hers to take a slow, wandering path down over her breasts and belly, tracing spirals of kisses and bites, keeping it almost maddeningly leisurely considering what he was doing to her with his clever left hand. His right, he used to push himself down the bed as he continued his explorations until he had reoriented himself alongside her and, with one swift swap of positions, replaced his fingers with his tongue.
The noises that came from her were strange and unfamiliar, drawn out of her all the way down from her belly, almost animalistic. She writhed above him on the pillows, her hands clawing the sheets to keep herself from twisting into a knot, sweat glistening over her skin.
He lifted his head and looked at her, and she managed to catch her breath long enough to ask, “Why did you stop?”
He gave her a devilish grin. “I was simply wondering, my Lady, if I would be more likely to put you to sleep with two orgasms or three.”
Miranda moaned and dropped her head to the pillow. “Three, goddamn it. Three!”
“As you will it.” He lowered his head again and pressed harder, at the same time slipping fingers back in, faster.<
br />
Not thirty seconds later her entire body seemed to explode from the inside out, and she wailed like a banshee while her muscles contracted and her limbs shook.
Before she had even started to come down, however, he grabbed her hips and turned her over onto her stomach. She knew exactly what he had planned, and so she was ready for him, planting her knees and lifting her hips to let him enter her hard, then drive her forward onto her shoulders, her hands crawling up the mattress, seeking some sort of stability and finding only pillows.
He covered her powerfully on all fours, his chest pushing into her back, and he leaned down and bit her throat and sucked, timing each swallow with the rhythm of their bodies so that the pleasure-pain of being drawn from was boosted exponentially, so much joining, contact inside her body, her blood in his mouth, the smell of her on his breath, both of them sliding against each other on sweat-slicked skin.
Knowing exactly how it would affect her, he changed the angle of his hips and pressed forward, driving in so hard that she screamed, but not out of pain. She threw her own pelvis back to meet him each time, wanting him deeper, wanting him to disappear inside her so they shared a skin. It didn’t seem like too much to ask.
Again, the explosion, and again, the earthquake. She bucked underneath him like a wild animal until the wave passed. Then she collapsed gracelessly face first into the sheets.
He let her be for a moment, her body going through the tremors and miniature spasms, tears gathering in her eyes that she wiped away with unsteady hands.
She turned over on her back, saw the self-satisfied look on his face, reached up and slapped the back of his head lightly. “That’s two,” she panted. “Or are you tired out already?” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and added, “I know at your age the stamina starts to go.”
David gave her a narrow-eyed look of feigned irritation. “It would serve you right if I did stop.”
She raised him a lazy smile. “And then what would you do with that?” she asked pointedly.
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