“That’s it, darling, take as much as you can.” His voice was ragged; she could hear the desire in it; feel his want like a pulse in the humid air between them.
He knelt between her spread thighs, his free hand anchored on her hip. She had his blood in her mouth, but he wasn’t close enough. Intense, he’d said of this process, and that had been an understatement. She needed more of him; needed everything.
She passed her tongue over the pulpy wound on his wrist and rested a moment, panting against his skin. “Val.” A shameless plea. She was past the point of dignity – as was he.
“I know, I know.” Breathless, his pupils tall, narrow, catlike slits as he stared down at her, free hand moving restless down her stomach and between her thighs, where she was tender, almost-bruised, but slick with need and aching for him again. “Drink,” he said, and pulled her up into his lap, her legs falling over his hips, sharp bones pressing into the bruises he’d already left there. He slid into her with a low, rippling moan that turned into a growl at the end, head tipping back, eyes shut.
She took his wrist again, drawing his blood into her mouth. Val, mate, mine, mine, mine.
~*~
She didn’t smell sick anymore. She smelled like blood, and sex, and him, his claiming of her, like a woman mated. But the sour tang of the tumor was gone. And in its place the scent of vampire, blooming slow like spring’s first flowers beneath her skin.
Not just any vampire, but one born of his blood. His turning. His…everything.
“Mia…Mia…”
He was sitting up against the headboard, and had her in his lap. Thighs split over his hips, her wet heat gripping him so tight. She rested her hands on his shoulders, thighs flexing as she lifted in little increments and then seated herself again, working him over until it was all he could do to form words. He was getting close, but he didn’t want to come yet; he was sore, and exhausted, and blood-drunk, but he wanted this to last.
And every bit of urgency that bled through his fingers where he touched her she gave back twofold. The turning was upon her, and it had left her ravenous.
She leaned in to kiss him, her hair tangling with his, so it was a curtain against the outside world. The change in angle did delightful things to the sex, and they both breathed punched-out sounds in response. He growled – and so did she, now; he could hear the feline harmonics undercutting her voice now.
It was a sloppy kiss, mostly just breathing against one another. “Do you,” she started, “do you – again…?” And she tried to tip her head to the side.
His own voice was a brittle shell of its normal sound. “Once more. I think.” The marks he’d opened into her throat thus far had half-healed, but the skin there was pink and tender. Carefully, gently, he tucked his face in and bit her again. She came when his fangs pierced her, walls squeezing tight around him. He found his own finish as he drank, a few last swallows to complete the circuit.
Stars burst behind his eyes, and Mia slumped down, her head on his shoulder.
When he finally gathered the strength to reach with one shaking hand and push her hair back, he saw that she’d swooned; dead asleep.
Her pulse thumped strong, though, regular and healthy. The scent of the cancer was completely gone.
Now, she only smelled like his.
Val bundled her close, tipped his head back, and let sleep claim him as well.
~*~
Fulk’s weapons cache and several outfits a piece were all the belongings they’d brought with them to Virginia. Once both of them were back on their feet and no longer floating on the opiate-like tide of post-binding torpor, they began preparations for leaving. In what Anna hoped was a subtle way.
Fulk locked up his weapons chest and took it down a back servants’ staircase. He was gone a long time, long enough that she had long since packed all their personal effects in one big duffel and was pacing back and forth across the rug by the time he returned.
She jumped when she slipped back into the room. “How did it go? Was anyone suspicious? Did they stop you? What did the guards say?”
He’d looked concentrated and battle-ready when he entered the room, but a smile slipped through now, as he gathered her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, there were some guards, and I do think they were suspicious. But. I played it off well. I think. I hope.” Doubt touched his voice. “In any event, the car is packed.”
She nodded. Having it ready and running was his job, while she would see to their charges.
Not charges. Masters.
“Jeez.” She let out a shaky breath. “You think they’ll be ready in time?”
Val wasn’t in her head per se – wasn’t controlling her. But she knew that he could, if he wanted to. She felt his presence as the slightest weight in the back of her mind; it felt unnervingly like a collar. They were far enough from the room he currently occupied with Mia that she couldn’t hear everything, but she caught vibrations through the floorboards, and the scents of sex, and blood, and aroused vampires were strong. She would have noticed these things anyway, but now, bound to him, she felt something almost like…obligation. Maybe gladness that he was enjoying himself.
And she was glad. She liked Val, and God knew he deserved a bit of fun after all his centuries locked away…
Fulk rubbed her back in long up-and-down sweeps. “You’re thinking very loudly.”
“It feels weird,” she confessed against the stretch of collarbone his old faded t-shirt couldn’t hope to cover.
He murmured a soothing noise. “I know. You’ll get used to it.”
She tipped her head back so she could look at him, chin resting in the hollow of his throat. His face was calm. “I thought you’d be…angstier about this,” she admitted, and he cocked a single brow. “You didn’t want this,” she said, softly, guilt welling up in her chest. “You – you’ve worked really hard to keep us unattached for a long time.” Her eyes burned. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry–”
He laid a finger against her lips. She hated to think it, knowing his thoughts on the matter, but he’d been almost serene since the binding. He was the sort of man who tried to carry the world, and struggled beneath the weight every moment of the day. Having that weight removed – passing it onto the shoulders of someone else – had smoothed the divot of stress from between his brows. “Darling,” he said, achingly sweet. “All I’ve ever wanted, from the moment I met you, was to call you mine and keep you safe.”
“The very moment? ‘Cause I spit on you that day. More than once.”
He chuckled. “And tried to stab me with my own knife, if I remember correctly.”
They smiled at one another a moment, remembering. So much about those early days had been awful. The war, the duke, Liam…hell, dying. Or almost. She knew he still berated himself for turning her. But she didn’t regret that, not ever. Sometimes a person had to go through hell to find the one thing she wanted to hold onto most. He was that for her. Everything else could be dealt with.
“We should try to sleep,” he said. “It’ll be a few hours more.”
“Sleep. Right. That would be smart.” She smoothed her hands up his chest. “Or we could–” The rest of her suggestion cut off into a startled laugh as he picked her up by the thighs and hoisted her onto the bed.
59
WHAT I THINK OF MAGIC
Vlad had always found exercise soothing. Grounding. It was so easy for the knowledge of what he needed to do to become a din of competing voices in his head. His mind was sharp – he knew this without boasting. It was simple fact. But that didn’t mean he never wanted to run from conscious thought. He was a prince, and princes couldn’t run; but he could work his body until exhaustion lulled him into a peaceful trance. Exercise had a way of whittling away all the noise until his decisions became clean, precise things shining through the cacophony; undeniable, unbendable.
He especially enjoyed sparring with an opponent.
Undead or not, so far, Kolya Dyomin made for a better p
artner than Fulk le Strange.
He was unaccustomed to fighting with swords, so they dueled with knives, up close and in each other’s orbits.
Vlad ducked a wicked slice, intending to reach inside the man’s defenses – only to have his hand batted away. He jumped back and felt the passing breeze of a knife swiping past his ribs, a hairsbreadth shy of making contact.
Vlad felt a smile break across his face. “You’re fast.” He struck again.
Kolya grunted, and bent backward at the waist, catching himself on the knuckles of one hand; Vlad’s swipe went over him. And before Vlad could reroute, Kolya had executed a tidy tuck and roll, and sprang back to his feet three yards away, knives at the ready again.
“Again?” Vlad asked.
Kolya twirled one knife, idly, walking it down his knuckles. His fingers were the only parts of his body that moved. “Do we have time?”
“No.” Vlad straightened with reluctance and slipped his own knives into the sheaths strapped to his thighs. Kolya’s went to the small of his back. “We should make ready.”
The revenant nodded.
The thing was, though, they were already ready. And if he wasn’t sparring, or walking through sword exercises, he became unnervingly aware that there was a new, female vampire a few rooms away. One that he’d turned.
His nose was still full of the smell of her.
That man – Treadwell – was probably still sitting with her, waiting for her to wake.
Arousal had never been a distracting state of being for Vlad. In his own time, if it became pressing, he found someone to lie with, and had done with it. He hadn’t felt the need since waking; there was a war coming, and none of his “allies” were prepared for it.
But now.
He took a deep breath in through his nostrils and let it out slow, going to the table where the rest of his weapons lay, freshly whetted and ready. He hefted his sword and turned it, light flaring down the blade in a bright wink.
“You’re distracted,” Kolya said, coming up beside him, a guileless observation.
Vlad sent him a sharp look – but found nothing there but blank question. An emotion almost like curiosity – but not quite.
“No,” he said, firm. “I’m ready. Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?”
“Escort your brother, his mate, and the wolves,” Kolya said back, rote. “Protect them. Go with them.” He blinked, and the first sign of life glimmered in his eyes. “Find my friends.”
“You’re to go with them. They’ll decide if you can find your friends.”
“Right.”
“Though I suspect they will.” Vlad looked back to his sword, turning its pommel in his hands. “Val has nothing.”
But that wasn’t true now. He had his new mate, and his new wolves, and a Russian werewolf in New York that he called his friend.
And he had Vlad, too, if hateful brothers were anything worth having.
~*~
Mia came awake with a start. Waking was a slow, labored affair these days, always accompanied by a terrible headache. It took a good face scrubbing and at least half a cup of coffee before she felt human. But not so this time. Her eyes snapped open, clear and focused, and she jackknifed upright, breath catching in sudden fright.
She registered the bed, its rumpled sheets, illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp on the table. Her sudden fright gave way to a sense of warmth, and safety, a sense of having something important very close by.
And then the smells assaulted her. All of them, stronger than she’d ever imagined, all of them tagged with dozens of individual markers, layered over one another in an impossible array. She could taste them; swore she could hear them.
She couldn’t help it; she choked on nothing. Clapped both hands over her mouth.
The sheets rustled beside her, and then two warm arms wrapped around her; one across her shoulders, the other around her waist. She was naked, she realized, and so was he, skin-on-skin.
His breath stirred her hair; his scent – Val, mate, mine – overwhelmed all the others, and the urge to retch subsided.
“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” he murmured; the movement of his lips against her scalp was soothing. Everything about being pressed against him was. He huffed a laugh. “Well. I assume it’s a lot. It’s always been like this for me. But I’ve heard the turning is fairly magnificent.”
“Fairly magnificent,” she echoed with a shaky chuckle. “That’s one way of putting it.”
He rubbed her arm and her ribs, gentle, undemanding touches. “How do you feel?”
She let her hands fall to her lap – ended up curling them around his forearm, holding him to her midsection – and forced herself to take a deep, measured breath. She felt…pain-free. Energized. Only now that it was gone did she realize how debilitating her low-level headache and nausea had been. She’d been living with a fuzzy sort of disconnect, her eyesight blurry, her temples always throbbing.
“I feel…fantastic.”
She turned her head, faster than anticipated, and found his face right up against hers, his eyes blue, and deep, and glued to her like she was something special. “Val.” She touched his cheek and he leaned into it. “I don’t feel sick.”
He beamed at her. “That’s because you’re not.”
She leaned in to steal a kiss, and it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.
~*~
“I’ll go check with Vlad one last time,” Fulk said, half-out the door already. “And make sure Kolya’s ready.”
“’Kay,” Anna said, distracted, as she tugged on her boots. “I’ll get the newlyweds.”
“Anna.”
She paused, and lifted her head.
“Be careful.”
She sent him a quick grin. “You, too.”
He slipped out.
It was late, the wee hours, really, and the house was quiet…but it never really slept. Someone was always moving around: rustling up a midnight snack; going to or from the bedrooms; flinging off the covers to run down for one last test. Scientists kept strange hours.
Fulk walked on silent feet down the long hallway, booted footfalls muted by the rug. He heard the house murmuring around him, its low, constant rhythm, but he didn’t detect anyone until he was halfway down the grand staircase. And by that point, when the stink of a campfire filled his senses, it was too late. He paused a moment, hand on the bannister, cursing internally.
Liam called, “I already saw you. You might as well come on down.”
“Fuck,” he muttered. This was exactly why they’d split up, but he’d thought he might get farther than the foyer.
Fulk clomped down the remainder of the stairs, just to be petulant, however childish that was, and came to stand in front of his old nemesis on the black-and-white tile.
The shadows beneath his eyes marked Liam’s fatigue, but he was otherwise as put-together as ever, today’s long coat green velvet, his khakis tight enough to be breeches, and tucked into riding boots no less.
Fulk said, “You look ridiculous.”
His brows lifted. “And you look like you’re about to go on tour with Guns N’ Roses, so I’d say we’re even, old chap.”
Fulk hated his guts.
Liam tilted his head, the motion as bird-like as ever. He’d always reminded Fulk a bit of a stork in that respect. “I would have thought you’d be all curled up with your little girl in a puppy pile by now. I’m surprised to see you up.”
Fulk’s fingers twitched, wanting to curl into fists, and he forced them to relax. Being around Liam left him feeling his least human: a moment from shifting, fangs long and prominent in his mouth. He swore he felt his ears growing pointed, that he had an actual ruff down the back of his neck that bristled. “She’s my wife. And a baroness.” And your sister-in-law he didn’t say.
“I suppose you expect me to show a little respect.”
Fulk said nothing.
“Tell me, Baron Strange, why are you out of bed?”
&n
bsp; “Why are you?”
A smile cut across Liam’s face, sudden and cold. “You’re going to make him a terrible Familiar.”
Oh. So that’s what this was about. Well, Fulk could stall. “Who?”
“Don’t play dumb. Even if you are. You and I both know why we’re here.”
“This is my house,” Fulk said. “That’s why I’m here.”
Liam really was tired, because a flicker of temper showed through his façade, his jaw tightening. “Come now, brother. You woke Vlad. You know what your purpose is here.”
Brother was a hard word to swallow, but Fulk managed. “Do I?”
A humorless laugh. “Oh. Poor fool. It will be easier if you stop resisting. We’re going to work together again, you and I. Familiars for the same master.” He grinned with all his teeth. “Like old times.”
The idea was anathema. It was certainly what Talbot and his ilk had fancied: two strong Familiars, used to the task, with a history of obedience (or something like it), ready to serve as the guiding arms of a vampire with a tyrant’s reputation.
But no one, not even the smug Liam Price, had counted on Vlad. No one had known him, and no one had anticipated that he was not only vicious, but sharp, and self-sacrificing.
Fulk felt a smile threaten, and let it break slow.
Liam looked confused. “What?”
“You are…wildly underestimating Vlad Tepes if you think he’ll fall in line with that plan.”
Liam repeated, “What?” Snappish this time.
“If you’d bothered to speak with the prince.” Fulk couldn’t help his chiding tone; it felt magical to be the one in the know. “Then you would understand that he would never lower himself to bind me. He thinks I’m weak, and indecisive. Weak because I worry about my wife. You have a wife, too, as it turns out. What makes you think he’ll want you?”
Dragon Slayer (Sons of Rome Book 3) Page 76
