by Nancy Gideon
Marchand hauled himself up. His steps were far from graceful. Every inch of him hurt. The thought of a reviving bath scattered his reservations about his host. And no, he didn’t want to greet Nicole looking as though he’d been wallowing in a street brawl—and losing.
The sight of the pool awed him but the invitation was irresistible. He shed his dirtied clothes and stepped into water that was surprisingly cool. He sank down, letting it flow over his battered body, easing the ache in his ribs and the burn along his shoulder. He submerged his head for the duration of his lung capacity then came up with a sigh, eyes closed, headache soothed. For a long moment, he let himself drift on a healing tide as a feeling of lassitude overtook him. It rose in languorous waves, pulling him down into a caressing whirlpool. A wonderful sensation, he mused in a mind far detached from weighted limbs. That heaviness drew on him like a sleeping draft, numbing body, stilling mind, until he felt himself floating, unable to move. It never occurred to him to be afraid. The notion that he might drown never formulated within his hazy consciousness.
Then a soft sound provoked his sinking awareness and his eyes fluttered open. At the edge of the tub, he saw Nicole standing still and dreamlike in a silky white robe, but she seemed so detached, so far away. He couldn’t manage the complexity of speech, so he smiled, a vague, wandering smile. She advanced a step, one bare foot easing down into the water, then the other. With a whisper-like move, her robe slid down the length of her arms and thighs to pool at the tiled edge and trail like lotus petals atop the water. His gaze had followed, only remotely registering that she wore nothing beneath it.
And then his vacant stare lifted, snared by eyes of molten gold.
Chapter Twelve
NICOLE AWOKE hungry.
Thirst rose in her like a fever, burning along her veins, that need to drink. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken any food—food other than Gerard had offered in that sacrificial cup. She sat up slowly, her head swimming with lightness, her temples throbbing, urging with every beat that she go out and find a matching pulse to dance alongside hers. Was there any point in resisting, after all? She knew what she was, what she was becoming. The vampire child of a vampire. Did they think she would never figure out the name of her birthright? Her heritage, Bianca called it. Her nature, Gerard seconded. They were right. All that was human within her was growing fainter amid the hugeness of new sensations, feelings that seduced with their power and superiority.
How long could she go on in this ravenous state? She would starve, Gerard told her. Was that true? Could normal food no longer sustain her, or was she being enticed away from it by these stronger cravings? She felt her face. There were no mirrors in the house, but she could feel the hollowness of her cheeks. How soon before that became the gauntness of the doomed? How long before her strength began to fail her? She was afraid of dying. The will to live was as insistent as the beating of her heart. She would do what she had to do to survive. As Marchand had said, as Gerard had said.
A long silken robe had been laid out across the foot of her bed. She slipped it on, enjoying its texture against her skin. She would go to Gerard and, like a babe, ask that he help feed her. He’d been waiting for her to ask, she realized, letting her come to it in her own desperate time. Now, she was ready.
But it was Bianca, not Gerard, who waited for her. At the woman’s questioning gaze, Nicole was blunt.
“I’m hungry. Show me what I need to know.”
“Bien.” The sleek vampiress patted the seat beside her and Nicole eased down upon it, suddenly stiff and reluctant. “What is it, child?”
“Is it terrible for them when we take them? Are they in pain for long?” She didn’t notice that she spoke of humans as something other than her. But the blond demon did.
Bianca restrained her cynical smile. “It can be very pleasant for them, like a dream. They become so dazzled by our unnatural eyes and beauty, they are unaware of fear. It is a bit like falling into slumber, I believe. Unfortunately, it is a dream they do not wake from.”
“Does it have to be like that? Do we have to kill?”
“Oh, Nicole, it’s not just the taking of blood, it’s the sucking of the soul. You’ll understand with your first. It’s the taking of their life, drawing in their power.” Then she nodded to herself as if congratulating herself for putting it so nicely. “Perhaps Gerard can say it better. He fancies himself quite the Renaissance poet. It’s the soul’s strength that revitalizes our minds, just as the blood restores our bodies. Each of us has our own method. Gerard likes to charm and play. I prefer it more like business.”
“And my father? How does he take his meals?”
Bianca pursed her lips pensively. “I do not know. I’ve never been hunting with him.”
But Nicole remembered watching him seduce and destroy. And the image still held pain. She decided she would keep contact at a minimum. Perhaps it would be easier to excuse what she did if she didn’t think of them as individual souls whose futures she was devouring.
“For your first few times, Gerard or I will go with you. We can show you how to select, how to overpower, how to dispose of what is left. That is the most important thing. We must be careful never to arouse undo suspicion. It is so much easier in these cosmopolitan cities. Here people are too sophisticated to believe such as we walk about in the night. In the countryside, they have no such doubts. Still, we must disguise what we do. What is it now?” she asked with a tinge of impatience as she took in Nicole’s downcast features.
“Such a long and lonely life I’m about to begin.”
Bianca’s smile was as sweet as too much absinthe, confusing and deadly. “It doesn’t have to be that way. You needn’t be alone. You can make yourself a companion for eternity as I did with Gerard.”
Nicole stared at her, aghast with horror. In her mind, she pictured Gerard as he might have been in life; charming, witty, softened by humanity. Bianca had stolen it from him.
“You look shocked. Don’t be. Ask him if he would prefer his shallow mortal’s life over what I gave him. I chose him because I didn’t want to be alone. I enjoy his pretty face and his pouty dramatics. The world may change around us, but he never will. He will always be mine. Is there one whom you would like to have with you in immortality?”
Marchand. She thought of him immediately, then dismissed the image. To have him would mean to kill him. To take his life.
Then she thought of the centuries of solitude.
“Perhaps,” she mouthed faintly. “If I did, how would I go about it?”
“You drink him to the doorway of death, then, before he passes through, you let him drink from you. He will arise reborn, a fledgling to your will, a slave to your desires. The link between you can never be broken.”
The notion tantalized. Marchand . . . forever hers. Then another thought came to her. “But what if I don’t drink him to the point of death? What happens then? Would he be linked to me like—” She was going to say like she was to Gerard, but caught herself in time.
“There would be a bond between you. As long as it is renewed, he would be powerless to resist your suggestion. He would live to serve you. He would love you above his own life.” And the way she said that sounded so seductive, so alluring. So irresistible.
Nicole considered this in the dark quiet of her soul. At one time, her innocent heart would have rebelled against such a manipulative thought, but so much had changed. She had changed. And she was thinking how good it would be to have him with her. She didn’t need to kill him . . . not right away. She could have just a taste, just enough to keep him near her. “Would he know what I had done? Would he hate me for it?”
“Not if you do it right.”
Never seeing Bianca’s smug smile of satisfaction, she asked, “How do I do it right?”
“Reach out to him with your mind, Nicole,” Gerard’s
silky tone instructed. She glanced up in surprise, not having heard him come into the room. He stood before her and cradled her face in his warm hands. “Shut your eyes, cara. Think of him. Concentrate on his eyes, on his thoughts. Let yours overtake them, slowly, completely. Like a mist. It is easy to mold mortal thoughts. They are so weak, so fragile, like butterflies, so do not hold on too tightly.”
Close your eyes, Marchand. Dream of nothing. And Nicole was surprised by how suddenly near she felt to him.
“Now,” Gerard crooned. “Bring on the hunger. Let it flow within you, hot and eager. Reach out and feel the beat of his heart next to yours.”
She concentrated and the throbbing tempo whispered through her, growing stronger, clearer.
“When the time comes, you will take him swiftly and he will never know it. He will only remember his need to be with you, to satisfy you.” He fell silent, his thumbs stroking over the delicate angles of her face. “Nicole, are you sure—”
“Of course she is,” Bianca interjected, shooting him a venomous look. “Nicole, I have a surprise for you waiting in the bath. Go see what it is.”
Nicole opened her eyes. She gazed up at her handsome mentor, sensing he was troubled. Gerard?
“Go, cara. That is how things must be.”
She rose up, and as she left the room, Bianca hissed, “You nearly ruined everything, fool.”
“Ruined what, Bianca? The death of innocence?”
She gave him a dismissing toss of her head.
“One of us should be with her,” he said. “She may not know how to stop herself from devouring all that he is.”
Bianca shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Sometimes it is through such humbling mistakes that one learns the value of humility.” And she was looking at him with icy meaning.
“Il nemíco, would you destroy her as well?”
“That’s not your concern, is it?”
He turned away with an angry curse and stalked to his own quarters. And Bianca leaned back upon the sofa, smiling as she thought of Nicole Radman’s fall to come.
The perfect revenge.
SHE STOOD POISED on the cool tiles, unable to believe what she was seeing . . . Marchand stretched out in splendid offering before her within that mysterious twilight setting. The perfumed water provided no covering, and her gaze roved down from the exquisite repose of his features along the intriguing terrain left bare to her view. His body was stunning in its virility. She’d sensed the sheer male power of him before, but having it so displayed left her breathless. It made her want to touch him, all of him, to learn each hard swell and taut curve. Her arousal lent a subtle difference to her mood, a different definition of want.
He’d been hurt. She could see the telltale bruising along his ribs and a yet-oozing gash from his collarbone to the cap of one well-developed shoulder. What sympathy she felt was quickly engulfed by the scent of his blood, rich and fragrant in the air. Hunger raged within, a beast long caged and craving freedom. His eyes blinked open and came into a drowsy focus. Patience, she soothed. Slowly. He must not feel afraid. Like a dream. A pleasant dream. She let her robe fall.
She continued to embrace his mind with her own, caressing away the momentary confusion as his gaze was lost in hers. She could feel his pain, and that she blotted out completely. She would not have him suffering, not now. Not ever.
He watched her wade through the water, his expression placid, sleepy, and she was somewhat dissatisfied with that. She eased back on her control until his eyes began an appreciative wandering, pausing at the rounding of her breasts until their peaks tightened in a shy thrill of response, moving lower to where the cool waters stirred against suddenly hot places. She liked the way he looked at her. It brought a shiver of weakness to her sense of power.
She came closer, kneeling over him so that her thighs straddled his and the sensitive pucker of her breasts came into their first contact with his warm, sleek skin. A shudder of expectation made her control over him falter. His hands rose, sweeping gently along her bare arms, and she touched his face, charting the strong contours, seeking the satiny feel of his wet hair between her fingers. Lowering gradually to the damp part of his lips. Finding upon them a lush well of emotions.
She hadn’t meant to kiss him. The movement of his mouth against hers was highly distracting. The silky probe of his tongue shook her fledgling concentration. With each notch it gave, his responsiveness increased. And she couldn’t say she minded so very much being molded by his hands, being tempted by his touch.
She lifted up, panting lightly against the invitation of his lips. This wasn’t how she’d planned it. But it was so beautiful in its spontaneity.
His eyes were open, their glaze gone. Passion simmered in the darker depths, desire for her.
“I want to make love with you, Nicole.”
She came back down for the luxury of his kiss, letting it coax the female response in her to trembling heights. His palms were skimming down the curve of her waist, settling possessively at the flare of her hips so he could move her against the ever-increasing proof of his need.
Her need was strong, too. She turned away from his questing lips, letting her own lower to the cruel cut he’d sustained. Her mouth moved gently as if to kiss his wound.
“Marchand, who’s hurt you?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” And his eyes were closing as she exerted the heavy vampire magic so he wouldn’t know she was lapping greedily along that wound.
The taste of him was intoxicating. She pressed hard against the tear in his flesh to encourage a fresh flow of blood, licking it up like a hungry kitten when her appetite roared with a lion’s strength. Her moan of urgency mingled with his soft mutter of complaint. The thought that she was hurting him made her back away, teased rather than satisfied.
He regarded her somberly while her fingertips fluttered along his cheeks and neck, finally stiffing there where his pulse beat hard and relentlessly.
“I love you, Nicole.”
“I want you with me, Marchand. Always. Always.” And she kissed him so he wouldn’t see the sudden glare of bloodlust in her eyes. She pulled away from his mouth as pain shot through her gums. Now, do it now, do it now!
And as she bent toward the beckoning bow of his throat, lost to the anticipation of the bite, his hands lifted her slightly. Even as her lips curled back to expose her teeth, he guided her over him, bringing her down abruptly. That unexpected sear of penetration made her eyes pop open wide and drove a gasp from between suddenly slackened lips. And Nicole forgot everything except the exquisite feel of him lodged deep and hot and full within her, possessing her the way she’d thought to possess him; body and soul.
As she went motionless in a near swooning state of sensory shock, he began to move her in slow gliding strokes up and down upon him. Nicole gave herself up to the sensations; the silky seduction of the cool water sliding between and around them, the fiery ache of him reaching further, stronger within, a scintillating contrast. She rested her head upon his shoulder, afraid to let him see her face in case some trace of unnatural desire remained to distort this glorious mortal union. Oh, Marchand . . . oh, my love . . . And she held onto him as he controlled her passions, shaping them with each completing thrust, drawing from her strange panting sounds of pleasure until the intensity was too much to contain.
The strength of her concluding spasms tore a cry from her and brought him to a swift completion. Then she lay contentedly against him while starbursts of sensation more brilliant than those painted heavens above faded upon the horizon of her consciousness. And it was delicious just yielding to his strength in that timeless moment.
Finally, she grew aware that he was shivering in the chill water and Nicole was spurred to reluctant movement. She eased up from him with a voluptuous sigh and whispered against his lips, “Come share my bed with me, Marchand.”
She helped him stand, then spent some time drying him off with a large sheet of toweling. The damp muscular definition of his body demanded exploration and she was held captive by his compelling heat and marvelous humanity. Sated by the sensual peak he’d carried her over, Nicole had no further thoughts of food. It was his physical closeness she desired, his emotional intensity she craved. And when he stilled her hands so that she would look up at him, her cheeks were glistening and her voice unsteady as she told him simply, “Marchand, I love you.”
TOO BAD THEY didn’t share the same degree of stamina, Nicole mused as she watched Marchand sleep beside her. He’d given way to exhaustion almost the moment he settled upon her sheets, while she was left wide awake and restless. She’d wanted to make love with him again. She’d wanted to pursue those breathless delights with him once more, but his mortal form had suffered too much abuse to sustain him. He hadn’t said who’d beaten him. She wouldn’t allow herself to think it could have been Gerard. No, he wouldn’t have had to use something so distasteful as physical force.
They’d brought Marchand here to be her initiation into the vampiric world. How was she to explain why he was yet untouched and her thirst unslacked? Perhaps she hadn’t the instinct it took to be a successful predator. That wasn’t quite true, because she’d been ready to take him. How was she to have known that he was going to upset her plans so deliciously?
“He is very pretty.”
