She drew herself up, trying to reassert her dominance over him. He lowered his eyes, plotting exactly how he'd tear her head off, after he'd killed Rafael.
"Both of you may stay here and heal," she announced with false graciousness. "It's easier to conceal you in a big city than a small one, at any rate. We'll have to work quickly, so we can move while Rafael is still overwhelmed."
Beau bowed and murmured thank you, a satirical curve to his mouth. He'd definitely kill her, slowly and oh, so very painfully as soon as he'd disposed of Rafael.
"Now, come along, both of you. Let's see who's in the nightclub tonight for you to snack on, just for enough energy to wash up. You're both entirely too filthy for my bed."
Rafael strode into his office, feeling haggard despite his freshly washed demeanor. His vampiros and compañeros carne to immediate attention, standing straight and tall, their eyes fixed anxiously on his face. Jean-Marie, who'd just flown back from New Orleans, looked unfamiliar in a workman's rough clothing. His expression was icily controlled, as befitted a heraldo. Later, Rafael would have to ask about that slight limp.
Earlier, Rafael had heard him invoke his eldest hijo's privilege and insist that the others remain silent on the mind-to-mind link, something for which Rafael was devoutly thankful.
Ethan was standing by the shutters, one of his revolvers ready in his hand, looking exactly as he had when they'd cleaned out those nests of bank robbers after the Civil War, his eyes green and murderously bright. Only one of Grania's compañeros had died so far, but the others were barely clinging to life. Ethan hadn't lost as many men in one battle since Prohibition.
Gray Wolf and Caleb were streaked with mud and clad in cavers' heavy clothing and equipment. Gray Wolf's arm rested around Caleb's shoulder, although Rafael suspected that Caleb was actually steadying Gray Wolf, who looked ready to hit the warpath. He hadn't seen Gray Wolf look so close to losing control since the last of the Indian Wars.
Emilio was now well scrubbed, dressed entirely in black, and wearing his warrior's face, something Rafael still wasn't quite accustomed to seeing. He was also even more well armed than Ethan.
Luis, on the other hand, wore the same classic western wear as Rafael did, although he too was as well armed as Ethan. His weary eyes searched Rafael's and relaxed.
Rafael smiled slightly. You read me so well, old friend. The battle is over for the moment. Like an old fox, you'll take advantage of this time to rest and rearm for the coming battles.
He waved a hand peremptorily at them, instinctively taking his own station at the fireplace, next to his sword. "As you were, mis amigos. We have much to discuss."
They settled back down, scarcely relaxed. Jean-Marie was playing with a wicked stiletto, while Ethan toyed with his revolver. Emilio had all the focused attention of a torpedo being programmed to destroy a warship. Gray Wolf and Caleb settled onto the big leather sofa in their usually outwardly stolid manner, although their brains were often the sharpest ones present.
Luis brought Rafael an ice-cold glass of Hidalgo's La Gitana Manzanilla. The single best wine to start off an evening, according to Seville's tapas bars. But at this moment, he needed the comfort of its complex, faintly salty taste, to remind him of the Atlantic Ocean and Grania's deep blue eyes. He sipped the pale gold wine, letting its chilly dryness awaken his throat.
Luis watched him, not quite hovering. No doubt another glass was waiting in the freezer to be filled—and no doubt Luis would very accurately judge his mood by how quickly he finished this finest of all aperitif wines.
He'd sworn he'd never tend a vampira, yet here he was, planning to do exactly that. El hombre propone y Dios dispone.
"If I may be so bold, how is Doña Grania faring?" Jean-Marie asked quietly, the stiletto momentarily lying still across his palm. A beautiful weapon, it had come from Florence over three centuries ago.
Rafael's mouth tightened but he answered politely. These men were his family and Jean-Marie was his son in every way that mattered. They deserved the truth. "Still asleep. I do not believe she will awaken until tomorrow night."
Shock flashed across Jean-Marie's face. "Asleep so long? Have you ever seen this before?"
"No." He drained his glass of sherry. "I once heard that if a cachorro sleeps more than a day and a night before awakening the first time, La Lujuria will be either very, very long—or very, very short."
There was an appalled silence. No one there wanted to contemplate the chances of a woman surviving La Lujuria, if it was much longer than usual.
Gray Wolf hummed something under his breath and beat his thigh, as if drumming. Caleb, who was perched beside him, closed his eyes for a moment, apparently in prayer.
Rafael set his empty glass down on the mantel, bringing their attention back to him. "We need to make plans. I will challenge Beau to a duel, saying he's such a coward that he attacked a prosaica instead of me."
"Madame Celeste's assassin?" Ethan's face shone with enthusiasm.
Rafael smiled in agreement with his hijo's certainty, flashing his fangs. He'd worked like the damned to learn dueling tricks during the past five centuries, from as many schools as possible, in order to destroy Beau.
Besides, he had to do it: He was the only living vampiro duelist with a chance of defeating that seven hundred-year-old pendejo. It was the only way to protect Grania from being enslaved by Beau, when his foul blood demanded her as his hija. For her, Rafael would risk anything, even his life and his esfera.
He would not, of course, involve her in the duel. For one thing, Beau needed to be defeated as quickly as possible, while he was still weak from his wounds. For another, Rafael couldn't risk either her body or her sanity by bringing her too deeply into the duel, especially now that she had a chance at eternity.
"Can you carry the gauntlet, Jean-Marie, as heraldo of Texas? Or do you think you were noticed in New Orleans during the last trip?"
Jean-Marie shook his head immediately, casually flipping his stiletto. "Not by anyone who would carry tales to Madame Celeste or Beau. Of course, I'll carry the gauntlet."
"As the challenged, Beau can choose either the time or the place."
Emilio said slowly, lifting his head from the knife he was honing. "Which do you think it will be?"
Rafael shrugged. "If he chooses the time, it will be because Grania wounded him more deeply than we know. If he chooses the locale, it's because he can't afford to let me specify New Orleans."
"And wants to have Madame Celeste here so she can seize Texas when he wins. Or so he thinks!" Ethan barked with laughter.
The others joined in, except Gray Wolf. Rafael's heir's black eyes saw all too much as they studied him.
"How long do you think it will take Beau to heal?"
Rafael glanced sideways at the former medicine man, as he accepted another glass of La Gitana. He should have known Gray Wolf would cut to the core. "One month is typical for that kind of injury."
The others fell silent, listening.
"When do you wish the duel to occur?" Gray Wolf probed further.
"A week from today, at most two weeks."
"Thereby forcing Madame Celeste to choose between healing Beau—and hoping to take over Texas if he defeats you—or the risk of discovery by the prosaico authorities through the trail of dead bodies. Excellent."
Rafael bowed his thanks for the compliment. "Ethan, as alférez mayor, you will be in charge of the field of honor, should it be held in Texas."
"Of course, sir."
"We'll hold it at the Santiago Military School."
Ethan nodded thoughtfully. He holstered his Super Redhawk and pulled his smartphone out. "That will work. They're closed now, to prepare for Hell Week when the new freshman class arrives. Do you want the football stadium or the soccer field?"
"Football stadium. The fixed seats there will restrict Madame Celeste's minions to where we can see them."
"Anything else, sir?" Luis asked, his black eyes filled with steady confidence. It
was exactly the same question he always ended planning meetings with during peacetime, and the others responded to the signal. They rose, ready to begin work.
Rafael shrugged, falling back on his lifetime hunting habits. "Not for now. I'll rest before going out—"
"You're overlooking something," Gray Wolf interjected dryly.
Rafael raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Which is?"
"You're Doña Grania's sole support. You need to remain strong for the trials ahead and to nourish her."
"So we've made arrangements to keep you well supplied," Ethan continued, "for as long as necessary."
"More than enough," Jean-Marie drawled, "for you to lead the most ravenous cachorro through La Lujuria, as we always do when there's a new member in our familia."
"You will not need to leave Compostela," Luis finished, drawing himself up, "for any reason whatsoever."
Rafael started to speak.
Emilio's mouth curved, the first softness he'd shown since being forced to watch Beau attack Grania. "It's no use arguing with Papá Luis, Don Rafael. Nobody ever wins against him."
Faced with the solid wall of protective opposition, Rafael threw up his hands and acquiesced. He comforted himself he was letting others provide food for him, just to let Emilio feel better. It was a more dignified thought than admitting that he'd fallen into another of Luis's traps for protecting his well-being.
"One other suggestion, mon père," Jean-Marie said softly, putting his hand on Rafael's arm. "It's whispered that Gorshkov has kept his cachorras alive through La Lujuria by…"
"Only for a few days," Rafael growled.
"Longer than anyone else makes a practice of!" Jean-Marie retorted.
The room fell silent. Rafael gestured Jean-Marie to continue.
"It's whispered that he does so by speaking continuously of his love for her, and her alone."
Ethan looked extremely thoughtful, his hands finally lying motionless on his guns. Luis glanced sideways at him.
"I would have done that anyway," Rafael protested. "She is la luz de mi corazón."
"May I suggest that you do so with extra frequency then, mon père?"
Rafael spread his hands. "Con mucho gusto, mi hijo."
Rafael paced his pitch-black bedroom, scrutinizing the arrangements one more time. No cachorro had ever awoken here before; he'd always taken them to a specially prepared suite. Now his carefully tended quarters were radically rearranged, yet he still wasn't sure everything was safe enough for her.
Steel shutters, originally installed for protection against an attack, covered every window against the July night. Everyone—vampiros, compañeros, and prosaicos—had been banished from the wing. Three layers of carpets covered the floors. Even the fountains had been silenced in the garden, lest their gentle music alarm his lady.
Grania tossed her head fretfully, scattering her red hair across the fine Egyptian cotton sheets. Rafael was at her side in a moment.
She'd finished rejecting the last traces of her prosaica body a quarter-hour ago, almost two hours after sunset. Her eyes had remained closed throughout, of course, while she screamed and sobbed. All entirely typical for a cachorra about to awaken—and no predictor whatsoever of whether the cachorra would live.
Every one of his hijos had survived La Lujuria, a record only he could boast of as creador. One of the most important factors was that he'd never forced anyone into El Abrazo. But Grania had been brutally compelled—and the odds of survival after that were very poor, even for a woman who wished to become a vampira.
A fine sweat gleamed on her brow. She was about to awaken.
He glanced up at the Madonna on the wall and said one last, quick prayer. Then he crossed himself, slipped into the bed with his beloved for one more time, and bit down hard on his lip. Blood welled up instantly, running down his face and scenting the room. He'd also filled it with lust earlier by masturbating. The more there was of both in the air for her to smell, the easier she'd gather herself and the more satisfying her all-important first meal would be. The meal that taught her to feed, for the rest of her life as a vampira, on blood and sexual pleasure.
Not death and terror, as Beau preferred.
"Grania, mi vida," he whispered. "Grania, you are my life," he repeated, calling her in English, in case La Lujuria had stolen her skills in Spanish. He slid his legs between hers, caressing her silky skin with the rougher touch of his hair-prickled legs. Bringing her feminine folds close to his masculine organs for the gentlest awakening possible. Earlier, he'd fantasized of coming home to her but not like this.
"Te adoro, Grania." He nuzzled her face, little kisses that teased her with the scent of blood. She moaned softly. Her body stirred against his, her leg rubbed over his. Bien.
"Calor de mi corazón, Grania."
Her eyelids fluttered open and she opened her mouth to scream. The conyugal bond tore at his heart, ripping him open with the same knife shards tearing apart her soul. Grania, mi vida!
He captured her head in his hands and pulled her close, back to where she could smell his blood. Por favor, Grania, find the path out of the abyss…
"Grania, querida."
Her head turned to follow his, as her hands stroked him restlessly. The knives carved them both more slowly.
He fondled her gently, keeping her close. Always careful of her fragile skin, but rubbing every possible inch of himself against her. Scent and touch were so very helpful in awakening a cachorro. I am here, Grania. There is a way out of the chaos. Just hold onto me and we will walk it together.
She sniffed delicately. Hope leapt through his heart.
"Te adoro, Grania!"
She growled softly at the back of her throat and kissed him hard, her tongue lapping eagerly over his lips. She tasted every inch of his mouth, their tongues tangling together as she explored him. She pressed hard into the bond, her consciousness less agonized but still incoherent. She was more forceful, more demanding, more aggressive than he'd known her before.
He threaded more words together for her to follow. "Te llevo en el alma, Grania."
Her blue eyes were glazed with desire. Her fingers rose over his shoulders, clawed his back, drew blood. She groaned, moved closer, rubbing herself against him more boldly.
Ah, the heat of her cream between her legs as it poured through the conyugal bond! Mine, she questioned, mine?
To his surprise, his hips began to rock against her. He'd never before lost command of himself at times like this.
"Rafael," she sighed, so softly even he could barely hear.
He froze. His name. She'd recognized him, despite La Lujuria's madness.
"Te adoro, Grania." He shuddered, small suns going nova under his skin now wherever they touched. His pulse speeded, as his blood raced to satisfy her. His chest tightened and his balls swelled, aching to pour his come into her. His life, his soul, his cónyuge.
Grania grew frantic with lust and his passion rose with hers. They tangled together, rolling across the sheets, sweat and blood and lust scenting the room. He tasted her breasts, suckling her like a madman. Stabs of lust rocketed through her nipples down her spine into his bones simultaneously. She raked her nails over his back as she fought to pull him closer and he laughed in triumph, before switching to the other breast.
Pressure built, hotter and harder, at the base of his spine. His cock was ready to burst from desperation. Yet he fought to delay and excite her further, as sensations raced between them, until he knew not who started which delight. Filling the air with the scents of blood and sex, the passion that would soon pour into her throat and core, to start rebuilding her.
She yanked at his hair, pulling him up. She kissed him fiercely, her hips rocking against him in a primal demand for completion. Rafael…
He groaned into her mouth, lying on her, arms around her. Her legs locked around the small of his back and her folds caressed him, blatantly pouring her hot cream over his cock, steaming him with the heat in her veins. His balls tucked th
emselves high and hard against his cock.
Grania…
He rubbed against her, quickly falling into a steady rhythm. He teased her clit. She bucked against him, her nails sinking deep into him, spurring him on and increasing her passion.
He growled deep in his throat, gone far beyond words. Lifted her hips and impaled her on his cock. She cried out in shock and pleasure, clinging to him.
A practiced flick of his index finger opened his jugular slightly. He thrust—and gasped at the desperate thrill of her scalding channel closing around him.
Her head dropped, her hair rippling over his shoulder and arm. She nuzzled his throat, following the trail of blood. Found his jugular, licked. Hummed in pleasure. Began to drink it in earnest, faster and faster.
Por Dios, the taste of himself on her lips, like the finest cognac! Her determination to drink more weakened his knees.
Her mouth suckling at him sent an echoing jolt down through his spine to his cock. He thrust in unison, which traveled back up to her mouth, and into his neck. A cycle quickly formed between them, building both their ecstasy. The faster and harder he thrust, the faster and harder she drank, the faster and harder rapture spiraled higher for both of them.
Rafael could not have said who was deeper in La Lujuria, himself or Grania. Only that he was desperate for more of his cónyuge.
And still they fought for sanity as they shared blood.
Grania muttered something. She worried at his neck, backed off. Tried again—with small, sharp fangs, and then drank with a grunt of satisfaction as his blood flowed hot and fast. Orgasm's waves rose in her, wrapping around his cock.
Rafael roared in delight.
All leashes on his self-control shattered. Her ecstasy triggered his, sending him over the edge into a series of bone-shattering contractions. Stars burst inside his skull as his come erupted into her.
He cuddled her afterward, savoring the few minutes' respite before she'd need to be fed again. Por Dios, she'd made it. She'd come through La Lujuria sane enough to create fangs and feed herself.
After the duel, they'd live as cónyuges.
Bond of Blood Page 29
