by Michele Hauf
“No, but you saw me handle myself just fine in the alley.”
“And who swooped in to rescue you?”
“You helped,” she conceded, “but I could have held my own.”
“If that’s what the pretty little hunter wants to believe.”
“Fine. The big bad vampire saved my ass.”
“And a gorgeous ass it is.” He gave her backside a squeeze. “It’s settled, then. You’ll stay here with me. My estate is warded against wolves.”
“Yes, but supposedly my place was, as well. The ward master put up new wards after the first werewolf invasion.”
“Did the one who took you cross the threshold?”
“No. I don’t know. As soon as the door opened I was out like a broken lightbulb. I guess I could have leaned forward across the wards.”
“A properly enacted ward should have repulsed the werewolf. Unless you invited him in?”
“Never! You know, something doesn’t feel right. I’ve been asking myself the same question over and over. Why is the Order involved with wolves?”
“Who ordered the wards?”
Lark shrugged and almost said Rook’s name, but stopped herself. Just because she was sleeping with the enemy didn’t mean she had to endanger any in the Order. “My supervisor. Nothing in the Order of the Stake is done without his approval.”
“Is that the infamous King?”
“No. King’s liaison.”
“Ah. Rook.”
She shouldn’t be surprised at his intel, but she was. “I’m not even going to ask.”
“I heard the name mentioned while in captivity. Which now makes me wonder as much as you do. Why would the wolves be involved with the Order of the Stake?”
“If they even are. It’s just conjecture.”
“And yet I heard both the names of King and Rook while caged at the Levallois compound. The pack is involved, Lark.”
“Yes, it seems so. I’ll have to check with Rook. Perhaps a ward was missed. But I’m not sure it’s safe to stay here at your home, either. Once Gunnar gets your scent, you’re in danger, Domingos.”
“I like danger. It is more interesting than mindless pain, yes?”
“That knight would deliver you focused and excruciating pain. Trust me on that one. You do not want to stand against Gunnar. He killed his wife for having an affair with a vampire. The man has no emotion, no remorse.”
“Sounds like the wolves.” He kissed her forehead and bracketed her face with his palms. “All right, you check with your Order and learn what you can, but you do it from my place for now, yes?”
She nodded. “I’ll stay safe. I know how to do that. And I accept your offer to protect me from the wolves. I know I can hold my own against vampires, but wolves, I’m not so sure. Besides, we make a great wolf-fighting team.”
“That we do. Come here, I want to show you something.”
He took her hand and led her across the yard to a small arc of vines that formed a shelter from most of the rain. Once beneath it, Domingos brushed vines heavy with flowers from Lark’s shoulder, and she felt only a mist from the rain.
“It’s kind of romantic under here,” she said, sliding her hands up his chest. “Who would have thought you’d have a cozy little love nest?”
“I like that I can surprise you. Kiss me once more,” he said. “I want to check something.”
“What?”
He bent to kiss her and dashed his tongue against hers. Gripping her tightly against his body, he deepened the kiss, as if he required her breath to survive. “Still taste the chloroform.”
“Yuck. And here I thought you were all about eating me up.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the taste.” He kissed her again deeply, roughly. “It’s fading.”
“Let me try a rain gargle.”
Lark leaned out of the grotto and stuck out her tongue to collect rain and wash away the awful taste. She felt Domingos hook a finger in her belt loop, and dared to lean forward even more, at an angle that would see her falling, but he held her securely. She spread out her arms and, for the moment, got lost in the joy of it all, raindrops splashing her skin and lashes.
He would never let her fall.
It had been a while since she’d forgotten to be angry. And a small voice inside her whispered that she should ride the joy while it was within grasp.
“Pull me back!” she called.
She stumbled against Domingos’s chest with bubbling laughter tickling up her throat. The vampire put back his head and laughed, too, then stopped abruptly and asked, “Why are we laughing?”
“Because the rain tickles.”
“Better than laughing because something wicked is scratching inside your skull.”
“You’re lucid right now.”
“Again, it’s the rain, combined with the powerful elixir known as Lark, The Vampire Healer.”
“I like that title. But don’t ever let my superior hear that one.”
“Promise. I don’t even want to meet the guy, let alone worry about saying the wrong thing to his face.”
“Just so.”
“It tickles even more if you can feel it on your skin.”
He tugged up her shirt and she let him take it off. His fingers played over the wet black lace bra, teasing her nipples to hard peaks. Lark let out a humming sigh. Something about musicians and their fingers; they certainly had skill. Toying with her bra clip, he waggled his brows suggestively at her.
“Go for it,” she offered. “I’ve never made out in the rain before.”
“Different than the shower. No serial killers.”
“And we can be fairly certain there are no clowns in the vicinity.”
A flick of his fingers sent her bra spilling from her shoulders to land on the soggy ground. Domingos’s skin slicked over her wet skin, his hands gliding across territory he’d marked as his own as he suckled her nipple. Holding her across the back, he possessed her, claimed her. Just like that. She was his. Lark didn’t want to be anywhere else.
This wrong had become right.
Suddenly he spun her around and she landed against the wall of vines and flowers, upsetting thick droplets to splatter her face and breasts. He unfastened her pants and slid them down, helping her step out of them. Her panties followed. And the vampire fell to his knees, gripping her hips and kissing her belly. He moaned, and muttered something about how soft she was, but remained intent on giving her pleasure.
Lark threaded her fingers through his hair, weaving the wet strands into twists. His tongue entered her, piercing her with the sweetest fire. As he directed, she arched her back and put up one leg over his shoulder.
The scent of honeysuckle toyed with what might still be dizzy remnants from the chloroform. All Lark knew was that this was a bliss she wanted to indulge. He licked her until her insides jittered and she balanced on the verge of orgasm.
“Yes, please,” she murmured. One hand clutched his hair, the other grasped at the fragrant vines twisting across the wall beside them. “Set me free,” she said.
And with an exacting rub of his thumb, he set her off to a soar. Crying out loudly, she did not care that neighbors might hear because the rain beat down steadily, disguising their lovemaking with a rhythmic patter matched by her steadfast heartbeat.
Domingos glided up to hug her, his taut muscles flexing against her panting softness. He tucked a kiss to her ear, her forehead and then her eyelids. “My sweet hunter. You think I can give you freedom?”
“You already have,” she said, and followed with a tug at his jeans. “Put yourself inside me, lover. Here.” She squeezed his erection through the wet material as he shimmied down the pants. “And here.” She tapped his fang.
The man met her gaze with a wondrous smile. “Yes, oh yes, my love.”
And he lifted her to wrap her hips about his, and as his long, hot shaft glided beyond her folds, the cold, hardness of his fangs pierced her throat. Lightning flashed in the sky, and Lark cried out in ecst
asy.
Chapter 16
Lark stepped inside the house through the patio door and leaned against the wall. Her body deliciously racked through with pleasure and the pain of her lover’s bite, she breathed evenly, luxuriously.
From behind her, Domingos slid his hand along her neck, then followed with his tongue, dashing away the last tendrils of blood she assumed the rain trickled down her skin.
“You are inside me always,” he said, and wandered past her, naked, dropping the heap of his wet clothing on the floor near an old unused hearth she had not before noticed for the darkness.
“Always,” she whispered, clasping her arms across her bare breasts. The sound of her agreement was romantic, epic even. But it disturbed her.
She’d wanted his bite out in the rain. But had that been her? Or had that been Lisa Cooper grabbing for solace, for a place to hide her fears? Lark had protected Lisa from those emotions over this year. Lisa was the obedient one who married for safety. Lisa had always tried to please. Lark flipped off the need to be liked, or to have love in favor of reckless bliss.
Had Domingos set Lisa free?
Yes, please.
She caught a loose black shirt he tossed to her and slipped it over her moist arms, then strode into the bathroom and closed the door behind her so he wouldn’t follow her inside. The illumination from the constant lightning streaks outside the small paned diamond window provided enough light so she didn’t need to flick on the switch. Funny how she’d become more accustomed to the muted light since she’d met Domingos.
She went to the bathroom, wondering briefly if vampires needed to do the same. They didn’t eat, but they did drink. Was the blood absorbed into their bloodstream? The Order had never taught her things like the bodily functions of vampires. Funny to think about.
Flushing, she then stood before the mirror, stunned to see the ghostly flashes of a woman drowned by more than the rain. The skin around her eyes was growing darker, and her cheekbones seemed more defined. Had she lost weight? After Todd’s death she’d dropped fifteen pounds from her already lean frame. Training had put back on ten. She just looked paler, for some reason. Pulled down into the depths by things that had occurred in her life, and now she was sinking deeper—but not flailing.
Lifting her chin, she defied the woman who resembled Lisa too much. Lark took what she wanted and made no excuses for it. She had wanted Domingos’s bite. This was not a fall that would wound her further; she wouldn’t allow it to be. Lark was strong, and this step into the wrong was making her stronger because she had chosen it, and she was making her way through the darkness and shadows, navigating it with a simple goal—connection.
And if that freed Lisa in the process, then so be it. It was time she returned to herself.
The smiling face in the mirror suddenly quirked an eyebrow. Why did he have a mirror in here? “Must have been here when he moved in.”
She wondered if it made him sad not to see his reflection. And then she couldn’t help wondering how the female vampires managed makeup and hairstyles.
As she shook her head at such silly thoughts, something startled her to quiet. Far off, not in the bedroom, she heard the deep bellow of an instrument. Had he put on some music—no.
“He’s playing?” Her reflection beamed.
Rushing out of the bathroom and down the hallway, she followed the luscious cello notes, which started slowly, testing, pausing after a few notes. Reluctant, or rather reticent? A few plucked notes. Testing the tuning of each string. Adjusting the tone by ear.
She proceeded slowly, one palm tracing the dark wall, her bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. Buttoning a center button on the shirt, she tossed her wet hair over a shoulder. Arriving at the open doorway to the vast, unfurnished living room, she waited outside, not wanting to barge in and scare the man from what she suspected must be the first time he had picked up an instrument in possibly years.
There were no chairs in the room, so he must be standing with the cello. Lark loved the deep, resonant tones of the instrument. She’d taken up the violin because at the time, in school, the orchestra had needed more violins, and the cello quota had been filled. Good ole public school system, assigning the creative what they need instead of what they desire. Despite being fitted with her number two choice of instrument, she had excelled and had made first violin chair halfway through the school year, and hadn’t been knocked out of that seat for her entire high school career.
Now, music was a hobby. She had almost lost touch with it while married to Todd. Almost. On weekends when he’d been gone the most, out slaying, she’d sneak her violin out of the closet and play. He hadn’t liked her music. That was something she’d tried to overlook. Lisa had shoved that annoyance aside rather neatly, ignoring her husband’s disinterest to her detriment.
The music inside the room stopped.
Lark’s heartbeats filled in for the missing notes. She closed her eyes, willing the gorgeous sound to resume, wanting Domingos to alchemize the precious pieces of his soul together through music.
“Come in,” he called to her.
She turned around the corner, shyly drawing a foot up the back of her opposite leg. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You’re playing? It must make you so happy.”
He shrugged, dropping his bow hand at his side. Indeed, he’d lengthened the tail spike at the base of the cello so he could play while standing. Just when he made to set the wood instrument down on its side, Lark rushed to him.
“No! I want to hear more!”
He cringed from her sudden outburst, and dropped the instrument with a dull echo, moving away from them both, the bow still clutched, his head shaking miserably. Smacks of his palm against his skull clued her she’d done more than just startle him.
She’d done what she hadn’t wanted to do—frighten up the voices.
With a glance to the instrument to ensure that it was safe, no cracks or apparent damage from the drop, she stepped around it, approaching her cringing lover.
He sank into the shadows near the curtained window, drawing up his bow hand before him protectively, head bowed against his wrist as he shook it and shouted for her to get out. Or was he pleading for the voices to get out of his head?
The cello had seduced him toward touching his past normal. And she had stopped it. Hell, he’d been so relaxed around her lately, the voices had been distant, infrequent. Must have been why he’d dared to take out the cello.
Well, she was not going to let the madness win. Not this time.
“I’m not leaving until you play me something,” Lark said evenly.
She wouldn’t step closer. His reaction to her could turn volatile, and he would hate himself for his inability to control it.
Domingos banged the side of his head against the wall and hit his fist, clenched about the bow, in time to the beats knocking inside his skull. It hurt Lark to watch the pain he self-inflicted, but it wasn’t because he wanted to.
“It’s not right,” he managed through clenched teeth.
“Your playing? It was beautiful. Just give it some time, Domingos.”
“Out of my head!” He sneered at her, revealing the fangs she had grown to crave at her throat, yet now they presented a violent facade that nudged at the hunter inside her. “Destroy them all!”
He swiped the bow before him, but Lark dodged it deftly. Without second-guessing the move, she lunged for him, gripping his wrist to direct the bow downward, safely out of range from poking her—or him. He was strong, but she was determined.
“Don’t let this become the enemy, too,” she said, still holding him, but moving her other hand to stroke across his forehead. He tried to bang his head backward against the wall, and she held firm, keeping his inner demons from harming him.
She remembered he’d told her he’d stopped playing after he’d been transformed, not after his captivity with the pack. So long he had denied himself. Music was a piece of a musician’s soul. It wasn’t meant to be ignored
or closeted away.
“Take back the music this creature stole from you,” she said. “You may not have asked for vampirism, but don’t punish your soul for it. You deserve some beauty in your life.”
Gently, he clutched the hand she held about his wrist, and she felt the tension at his head release and knew he would not resist her touch any longer.
“You are my beauty,” he declared on a whisper.
“This.” She drew the bow from his hand and held it properly in her right fingers as if posed to stroke across the strings. “This is true beauty.”
“It is just music.”
“Just music? Domingos, this is your soul! And I want you to share that part of you with me. I think your music can defeat this—” She pressed her palm against his forehead, signaling the madness within. “You know it can.”
He twisted into her, tucking his head against her shoulder and drawing her into a clinging embrace. A child’s desperate clutch. Wrap him up tightly and rock him, keep him safe.
“I’ll never let you go,” she cooed.
“Never?”
“Promise. But neither will I ever stop wanting you to have your music back. You need it, Domingos.”
A different tack was required to coax out the musician trapped within the vampire’s chains.
“Will you allow me to play?” she asked. “I saw you have a violin in the cabinet, as well. You must play all stringed instruments.”
He lifted his head, and though the room was dark, in that moment Lark saw into his soul. She didn’t need light, she could feel the lightness of Domingos LaRoque rise to the surface and brush her softly. The musician. The man who once was. He wanted. He needed.
With but a nod, he granted her permission.
Lark took his hand and placed the cello bow in it, then tiptoed to the cabinet to take out the violin case. Gorgeous inlaid arabesques danced about the body of the pale wood instrument. Reminded her of the henna designs Indian women wore on their hands and feet. She almost dared not touch it. It was glossy and well cared for. A jewel nestled within soft black velvet.
Kneeling before the case, she put her hands on her knees, now unsure she could do this. After a two-year hiatus from daily practice, she was no professional. Yet she could play a few pieces well enough.
