“Pintura, please do not cry. Speak to me.”
She merely wept into the blankets. He cursed himself a fool and withdrew from her. She sobbed at the sudden withdrawal. He turned her to her back. Her neck strained, pressing her face away from his view. Christian caught her chin in his hands. “Pintura, tell me what is wrong.”
“That’s not my name.”
His throat went dry. She was incredibly upset, yet not in the angry way he usually interpreted her distress with him. They needed to learn to communicate openly. Not wanting to trespass on her thoughts, he scanned her emotions. She was…ashamed.
“Delilah, tell me what is wrong.”
A bubble of small sobs left her lips and she fought in vain to turn her face from him. He sat back on his heels. What had he done?
His chest tightened as her mysterious grief became his own. He had done this to her. She truly did loathe his touch. It was more than finding his blood repulsive. It was everything about him. Easing off the bed, he quietly stepped back as she continued to cry.
“I am sorry, Delilah. I will not bother you in such a way again. Please forgive me.” He turned and silently left the room.
* * * *
She thought nothing could hurt more than the shame of giving herself to a man who saw her as only a body with no regard to who she truly was, but she was wrong. The pain of feeling him pull away from her was worse. She held no power over him, not even sexual. She’d thought the bedroom might be one of the areas they could actually get along, but who would want to sleep with a weepy mess? She was the worst mate ever.
Her sobs filled the silence until her mind slowly let go of the present and sleep welcomed her into its numbing hold. She let go, let go of the shame, let go of the frustration, let go of it all, only wishing she’d never wake again.
Of course that didn’t happen. Why? Because she was fucking immortal, stuck in everlasting hell.
Delilah awoke just as the pink fingers of dawn stretched across the aged wood floor of the bedroom. Christian was lying beside her, his presence reminding her of her latest humiliation. She rolled to her back and thought about the previous night. It had been a disaster she didn’t want to repeat.
She turned and studied him. He was breathing evenly. Asleep. It wasn’t really what she expected from a sleeping vampyre. It all looked so…normal. Carefully, she climbed out of bed, found a fresh chemise, and went to the washroom.
After cleaning herself up, Delilah found herself standing out front. Quietly, she stepped off the porch. A sharp tug grabbed hold of something deep inside of her chest. She forced another step and the tug pulled harder. What was that?
She ran to the trees far in the distance and the tug bloomed into a full fledge ache. It hurt. Oh, God it hurt. It wasn’t a cramp or any other type of pain she’d ever experienced. She wobbled back toward the house a few steps and there was the slightest relief. Frowning, she took three more steps toward the house and the pain eased again.
Was it him? Did he put her under some sort of spell? He didn’t believe in electricity so the chances of him believing in magic were unlikely. However, the closer she got to the house, to Christian, the more the pain disappeared.
It wasn’t like anything she’d ever felt. It was a strange, discomforting presence behind her ribs, deep and oily like guilt or jealousy, but it was neither of those emotions. All she knew was it hurt in a way that was intolerable and that was how she found herself standing back in the antiquated kitchen. There were a few ways she could handle things with her so called mate, the majority of them requiring energy she didn’t have.
Tightness formed in her belly just below the pinch in her chest, an ache of regret for being such a bitch. True, he betrayed her in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forgive, but enough was enough. Nothing would ever change the past. It was time to move on. They needed to make a truce and Li decided she would be the first to raise the white flag.
She opened the pantry and pulled down a sack of brown sugar, a jar of vanilla, and a sifter that looked to hold powdered sugar. The fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, her Nanna used to say. And cooking was the fastest distraction she knew. She didn’t want to think about what just happened, so she pulled out a large skillet and set to work.
She wasn’t sure she was after Christian’s heart, but it was a start. Besides, that ache in her stomach was hunger. That one she could identify. She knew French toast wasn’t what her body wanted, but it would have to do.
In the breadbox she found a long loaf of white bread. It never occurred to her how spoiled she was until she learned slicing bread was such a whopping pain in the ass. Her slices were plump and crushed from trying to gently hold the loaf while sliding the blade of a knife through the tender stuff.
The large cast iron skillet sat on the back burner. She lit the burner and let the pan heat. In the ice chest there was a jar of milk and a tub of lard. Lard. She giggled as she spread a heaping pad over the hot pan.
You are living with Amish Vampyres. Weird Al couldn’t have come up with a funnier premise.
After dunking several slices of bread in the batter she dropped them onto the skillet. They sizzled and snapped and soon the kitchen was filled with the delicious aroma of sweet French toast. Li wasn’t sure how a vampyre’s appetite compared to a regular man’s, but going by the way her guy friends could clean out her fridge in one sitting, she figured all men could eat.
She filled a large platter with a warm stack of crispy toast and dusted the pile with sugar. Surely Christian would have maple syrup somewhere. She went to the pantry while the next three slices browned and crisped and dug around. Nothing was prepackaged. Everything was jarred and fresh off the farm.
She liked cooking in this kitchen. It was like playing in an organic market. No preservatives here. It would be a dietitian’s wet dream, well, minus the big tub of lard and straight from the udder cream. Yeah, maybe not.
“You are making breakfast?”
Delilah jumped and turned from the pantry. Christian waited, dressed, at the doorway of the kitchen, an expression of pure shock on his face. She smiled. Play nice.
“Yeah. I don’t do the meat thing, you know, but I’m still a pretty decent chef. Here, have a seat. Do you like French toast? It’s my Nanna’s recipe.”
He reluctantly let her pull him into a chair at the table. His gaze went to the stove, the dishes along the counter, the stack of toast on the center of the table, and to her. “Should I worry about the ingredients? You held the arsenic, I should hope.”
Hardy har har. She placed a plate in front of him and a napkin. Plucking a corner off a steaming slice of toast she popped it in her mouth. “See? All good.”
He eyed her skeptically. Let it roll of your shoulders, Li. He’s just taken off guard.
After putting some silverware on his napkin she removed the last three pieces from the skillet and transferred them to the serving platter on the table. Shutting down the burner and grabbing two glasses filled with milk, she took the seat across from him.
“If you don’t shut your mouth you’re gonna start catching flies,” she said as she plopped three fat pieces on his plate. “Shall we?”
Seeming to snap out of his trance, he shook his head. Using the side of her fork Li sliced off a bite and stabbed into it. Her mouth watered. She lifted her fork to her mouth and stilled.
Christian had yet to touch his silverware. His head was bowed and his eyes were closed. Delilah didn’t know what to do. Moment of silence? Grace? Yeah, that made sense. She stayed perfectly still and waited. He didn’t move for almost thirty seconds and then he cleared his throat and nodded. Smiling tenderly at her he picked up his fork.
“Thank you for this lovely meal, Delilah. It looks quite tempting.”
She smiled at the simple compliment and they began to eat. After working through half of her toast, Delilah took a break from eating. “So, what are your plans today?”
He stilled. She hated that h
e still had that look of skepticism in his eyes. “Well, I suppose that depends on you, Delilah.”
Right. If she planned on running away again.
“I meant it depended on what you wanted to do,” he clarified.
“Oh.” Did he know she tried to leave this morning? She was just as suspicious of him apparently. Well, this was new territory for both of them. It was bound to take some getting used to.
“Is there something you would like to do today?” he asked as he helped himself to more French toast. He liked her cooking and a strange sense of pride filled her as he dug in for more.
“Um, the other day the girls said something about dinner. I was thinking it would be fun to eat with the others, maybe get to know some of the other girls a little better…” His uncomfortable expression had her words falling away. Okay, not big on the social things.
“The Hartzlers sup together because they are family. Perhaps we could invite my mother for supper one evening this week.”
“But they invited us.”
“Yes, but…I am not so familiar with the younger Hartzler men. Ezekiel is closer to my age and serves with me on the council. Perhaps you would—”
“Well then we can both make friends.”
He pressed his lips together. She didn’t think he was angry, just uncomfortable with the idea of hanging out with the younger crowd.
“How old are Cain and Adam?” she asked.
He thought for a moment. “I suppose a bit under a half century. The bishop’s mate turned fifty a few years ago. She is the oldest child.”
“Larissa?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. It’s so cool you guys all look like you’re in your late twenties and some of you are, like, thousands of years old.”
He coughed and wiped his mouth. “No one on the farm is that old, Delilah.”
“Who’s the oldest?”
“Bishop King. He is nearing half a millennia.”
“Wow! Who’s after him?”
“The elders on the council are the oldest males of each family. There are nine families on the farm. However, my mother is of course older than me.”
“Are you the youngest elder?”
“Yes. I took my seat on the council when I was a boy of eight years.”
“Eight? And people listened to you? You were a kid.”
“I had been reared by my mother to take my position seriously. I am the only male Schrock and as such, it was my duty to ensure our family was not overlooked. There are only two of us. Well, now there are three.”
Right, the third being her. We’ll see. “Did the older guys razz you?”
“Razz?”
“Yeah, pick on you for being the little guy.”
“I do not see myself as little.”
“Of course not.” She smirked. “I just meant younger.”
His eyes wandered and focused elsewhere for a moment. “There was a time,” he said quietly, looking somewhere over her shoulder. “That a few of them referred to me as Bastard Schrock. My mother was mated, but left her mate. It has been somewhat of an embarrassment over the years.”
Something protective snapped to life inside of her at his confession, but the rest of his statement voided her sympathy. “I thought mates couldn’t leave each other.”
“They can’t, but leave it to my mother to disprove a belief thousands of years old.”
Interesting. “Why’d she leave him?”
His gaze returned to hers and appeared guarded. “I do not know. She never speaks of him, nor do I care. I do not know who my father is and I likely never will. I am no longer an insecure boy who lets such sentimental nonsense bother him.”
Delilah lowered in her seat and let the conversation drop. No matter what Christian claimed, there was still a trace of hurt in his words.
This wasn’t like the modern world. Over half of Delilah’s friends came from broken families and had divorced parents, but here, family seemed to be the backbone of every home. It must’ve been terribly difficult for Christian to be the only male without a father.
She felt for him in that moment and understood a bit more about why he always tended to be so serious. If he was expected to be a man at eight years old, he likely never had much of a chance to be a boy.
She pulled back from the table. “I’ll do the dishes.”
Gathering the plates, she tried to make the best sense out of the pump and jarred soap. Would it be too much to get some Dawn? She couldn’t imagine God smiting them for a squeeze bottle of detergent.
Oh God, laundry. She shivered. Li didn’t even like doing laundry at the Laundromat. Imagining beating clothes on a rock or scrubbing them over a washboard was terrifying. Wait! What the hell are you worried about? You won’t be here come laundry day.
As she dried the last dish she turned. Christian was watching her with a peculiar look on his face.
“What?”
“You surprise me, Delilah. That is all.”
She shrugged. “I told you I’m nice.”
“I never doubted it.”
The room pulsed with an energy that hadn’t been there earlier. She wanted to go to him, touch him, perhaps even kiss him. Their momentary truce made the situation easier.
He leaned back in his chair and opened his mouth. “I want—”
There was a knock on the front door. They both stilled and turned to the hall. The soft knock sounded again. Delilah looked down at her chemise. She probably should’ve put back on the ugly green dress again. “Should I wait upstairs?”
He turned to her, clearly surprised at her acquiescence to remain properly attired in front of others. He shook his head. “It is only Abigail. You need not worry about how she sees you.”
Abigail? Who the fuck is Abigail, coming to knock on Christian’s door bright and early?
The drag of his chair along the wood floor had her snapping out of her head and reaching for something. For some reason she wanted to look busy and capable. She picked up a dishrag and began drying an already dry plate from breakfast.
Christian went to the door and she craned her neck to see this so called Abigail. Unfortunately Delilah could only make out their voices from the kitchen.
“Good morning, Abigail.”
“Good morning, Christian. My father sent me with the notes from the meeting you missed. He assumed you would be interested in reading over them.”
“Thank you. Have you eaten? Would you like some breakfast?”
“Oh, no thank you. I’m still quite full from first meal. I’ve been up since four.”
Well pin a rose on her nose. The girl sounded a bit too bubbly for Delilah’s liking.
“And where will you be going after here, dear Abby?”
She giggled. “Where else? Home of course.”
“Your father no doubt has a dozen needless tasks you must be present for.”
She hummed. “If he didn’t, I would assume I was lost in a dream.”
Christian laughed. Delilah didn’t get the joke.
“Speaking of which,” the girl said, lowering her voice. “I heard your mate has arrived.”
“She has.”
“Oh,” her voice turned soft, almost sad. “Then I am very happy for you, Christian.”
There was a heavy moment of silence. Delilah frowned.
“Your time will come as well, Abby. Do not think this is all there will ever be for you. I believe He has planned someone special to love you.”
“How am I supposed to ever meet him if I never leave the house except to come here? And now you have your mate. I assume our visits will become less and less.”
Visits? Delilah wrung the cloth over her fists.
“Do not fret, sweet Abigail. He will find you.”
“I hope so. Well, I had better be returning home before Abraham loses patience.”
“Please stop by again soon,” Christian said.
The door closed and Delilah quickly turned to put away the dishes. He came into the kitchen
and hovered behind her. Close behind her. She moved as if she hadn’t noticed his proximity.
Heavy hands settled on her hips and she stilled. He pressed his lips to the back of her shoulders and her breasts drew tight under her chemise. There was no way he was gonna be all sweet and touchy feely with her after his little trollop got him all worked up. She tried to shrug him off.
“We are blessed, Delilah.”
A million other words popped into her head, better suited to describe them. Blessed was not one of them.
“That was Abigail.”
“I heard,” she said dryly.
“I feel for her.”
Delilah stiffened.
“She never is permitted to leave her home except to occasionally come here. Her father is very overprotective since losing Mary on the voyage over. Mary was Abraham’s mate. He has never been the same since losing her. I doubt he will ever be whole again.”
His arms tightened around her waist, but Delilah wasn’t in the mood for being held. She waited for him to release her. When he didn’t, she said, “Well, I assume good old Abs will have to find someone else to visit now that I’m here.”
The soft perusal of his fingers along her belly stilled. “Why? I was hoping the two of you could become great friends. Abigail does not have many friends.”
And why would she if she was banging all the single men on the farm?
Christian grunted and stepped back. The warmth of his body left a phantom chill in its absence. “Delilah.”
There was censure in his voice. Crap, he was probably reading her thoughts again. Damn nosey vampyre. She took a deep breath and turned to face him. Yup, he wasn’t happy. She waited.
“Abigail is—”
“Look, you don’t need to explain your past to me. I’m sure you don’t want a detailed list of my dating history before you came along.”
He scowled. “Abigail is my cousin. Her mother Mary was my mother’s sister. She is allowed to visit here, because Abraham knows I will look out for her like kin.”
Please carefully insert foot between fangs. “Oh.”
His frown remained in place. “You pass judgment entirely too quickly.”
Call Her Mine Page 14
