The Dracove (The Prophecy series)

by N. L. Gervasio

  “Anything you want me to.”

  “Oh really? I’ll have to remember that.”

  His long hair fell forward when he turned back to his creation. Seeing this, she stood up from the stool and disappeared down the hall. A minute later she reemerged and stood next to him.

  “What’s that for?” He eyed the elastic band she held in her hand.

  “Your hair,” she said.

  He smiled. “What, you don’t like hair in your food?”

  “Not particularly, although I always say the chef is not responsible for dog hair in the food.”

  He chuckled. “Go ahead then. I’ll let you do it.” He stood back from the stove and faced her, his arms outstretched, welcoming her.

  She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back. It’s so soft. He stood there smiling at her, watching her, sniffing her perfume with a deep breath. She fumbled and flipped his hair around to get the elastic band on. His breath tickled her neck. She fidgeted, trying to hurry so she could get out of the position that threw her nerves completely out of whack. It made her want to run away from him as far and as quickly as possible or attack him and get it over with. She hadn’t had much sexual experience.

  When she finally finished, she went to step back. He placed his hands on her waist, pulled her forward again, and pressed her body against his. Her heart skipped.

  “Were you uncomfortable earlier?”

  What was it about him? She felt like she’d always known him and was completely comfortable around him, except when they were close. Maybe she was afraid of getting hurt again, but Grant didn’t seem to want to hurt her. Not like Rob. Once again, she was reminded of her poor judgment when it came to men. However, Rob was different. She’d been vulnerable when she met him. She reminded herself that vulnerability was no excuse for letting a man like Rob control her.

  She looked up at Grant—into his beautiful ice blue eyes—and decided to follow her heart. “No, I wasn’t.”

  “But you are now.”

  “It’s my problem, not yours.”

  “Actually, if it’s yours, it’s mine as well. I want you to understand something, Kylie. I’d never make you do anything you aren’t ready for.”

  She nodded and smiled. Her hand covered his cheek, and she moved closer to him. “Your concoction is going to burn.”

  He turned his head and quickly pulled away from her. “Bloody hell.”

  She laughed.

  He looked at her and stirred the food. “Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”

  She nodded and covered her mouth with both hands. He moved the pan to the back burner and turned toward her. Her eyes widened and she took a step back.

  “Come here,” he said, motioning to her with his finger.

  “No way.” She stepped back again. The cat and mouse game began.

  “Come now, be a good lassie.”

  “I’m not your dog.”

  He laughed. “Have it your way.” He took a step closer to her.

  She moved back again, still laughing. Another step closer and she turned toward the living room.

  He ran after her.

  Grant captured Kylie next to the sofa, lost his balance, and they both tumbled onto the cushions, laughing. He tickled her.

  “Stop it.” Kylie said it loud enough that Grant winced. It’d felt like a thousand needles pricked his eardrums.

  “No, not until you say you’re sorry for laughing at me.” He grinned and continued.

  “Okay, okay . . . I’m sorry,” she yelled out, still laughing hard.

  He stopped for a moment. “Are you?”

  “No.” She jumped up. He grabbed her, pulled her back down, and started tickling again.

  Kylie kicked and tried to get his hands away from her sides, but she didn’t try hard enough. He sat on her legs to keep her from kicking him anymore and leaned forward, his face only inches above hers.

  “Say it . . . and mean it,” he said.

  “Say . . . what?”

  “You know what.” He grabbed her sides again.

  “All . . . right . . . I’m . . . I’m . . . sorry!”

  He stopped, tilted his head and looked at her, one eyebrow arched.

  “I mean it.”

  Her laughter died down and he pushed the hair out of her face. Kylie finally caught her breath. She looked up into his eyes and pushed back the few locks of hair that fell out of his ponytail. She slid her hand around the back of his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him. Her other hand ran down his chest, feeling every muscle. She ran her hand under his shirt, making it obvious to him what she wanted.

  “Kylie, I don’t think this is a good idea,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want you to think this is the only reason I’m here, since we just met.”

  She smiled softly and ran her finger over his lips. His tongue slipped out to lick it. “I don’t think that, and I wouldn’t want you to think I do this a lot.”

  “I would never think that of you.” He leaned forward to kiss her again, but took a detour and ran his tongue along her neck.

  Suddenly, he jumped up. “Okay, time for dinner.”

  She giggled as he helped her up.

  Grant headed for the kitchen again and finished cooking their meal. He just had to get his damn thoughts somewhere other than ripping her clothes off and taking her wherever the hell she stood.

  Okay, that wasn’t helping at all.

  * * * * *

  They sat on the sofa talking for hours. She listened to his stories and couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this great.

  “So, you’ve traveled all over the world?” She sipped her wine, and curled her feet under her.

  “Yes, a few times,” he replied. “It’s a bit of a necessity in my business.” He grinned from ear to ear.

  Jealousy bit, but she pushed it back. “That must be incredible.”

  “Haven’t you ever gone anywhere?” He poured the last of the wine into their glasses.

  “No, not really. I’ve never left the country, except for a few trips down to Mexico, but I’d love to go to Europe someday, and Australia.”

  He laughed. “You’re an artist and you’ve never traveled anywhere. Incredible.”

  “Why is that so incredible? And I told you, I’ve been to Mexico.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t take it wrong, please. It’s just that . . . every successful artist I’ve ever met has at least been to Europe. Some, to study.”

  “Well, I guess I’m not normal then,” she said and bit her lower lip.

  “I don’t really care for normal all that much.”

  “Me either, too many restrictions.”

  He laughed. “You’re an incredible woman, Kylie O’Rourke.” He leaned forward and took her glass.

  He placed both glasses on the table next to the third empty bottle of wine and slowly moved forward to kiss her. He ran his tongue along her soft neck and they got caught up in the heat of the moment again.

  She pulled his shirt off and bit her lower lip. Every muscle in his upper body rippled. He was in pretty good shape for his age, which she figured to be somewhere in the mid-thirties, close to her own age. She ran her hands over his chest.

  He leaned forward again and laid her back against the arm of the sofa.

  “I really should leave,” he whispered.

  “I don’t want you to,” she replied.

  “I know, but—”

  “Besides, you’ve had too much wine. We both have—”

  “Exactly why I should leave,” he said.

  “If you get in an accident, I’ll never forgive myself for letting you drive.”

  He pushed himself up and focused on her face. If he were to get into an accident, he’d be fine, but he’d most likely scare the hell out of the coroner. He found it intriguing she was so concerned with his safety. He’d grown so cold toward people over the centuries. Everyone he’d cared about was gone and he di
dn’t want to feel that kind of pain again. Of course, there were a few here and there he sympathized, whether he knew them or not. But she made him feel warm inside. She re-ignited the flame in his heart that had gone out so long ago.

  “You’re sweet to be concerned about me—”

  “I like you, Grant.”

  “I like you too, Ky.” He paused, staring into her wondrous emerald eyes. “Well then, can I sleep on your couch?”

  A loud bark of laughter came out of her.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “A gentleman to the end, huh? Well, in that case, I have a guestroom. You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

  “Oh, right.” He lowered himself to her again. “I forgot.” She giggled and he laughed. “You’re just a giggle freak, aren’t you?”

  She opened her mouth. He quickly kissed her again before she had a chance to respond.

  When they kissed, her energy consumed him. So much so that he almost forgot what he was. The incredible power she had over him made him want to stay like this forever. When he was with her, he was no longer Grant the vampyre; only Grant the man. The man whose love had been captured by a beautiful mortal woman he could grow old with, die with, and spend an eternity with. She was his reason for living such a long life. He could see it now. She was the one he dreamed of when he was a young lad. The one he hoped to meet someday. The one his friends told him long ago he would never find. And he finally found her here, in a century he’d never thought he’d see, in a world he never thought would exist. He was once again reminded that Siobhán was only a glimpse of the woman he’d waited for all his life.

  “Now I really need to leave or go to bed,” he told her when she didn’t stop his hand from exploring under her shirt.

  In truth, he only had a small buzz from the alcohol, and it was wearing off quickly because of his high metabolism. The only drink that could make vampyres drunk to the point of stumbling was blood.

  “Oh, fine.” She pushed herself up.

  Grant tumbled into the back cushions. He laughed and sat up. “Okay, then.”

  “I should go to bed, myself. This is going to be one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

  “Wine does that to you.” He followed her down the hall. For someone who’d imbibed a lot of wine, she sure moved fast.

  She opened the door to one of the spare rooms and turned on the light. “Sure you want to sleep in here?” She leaned against the doorway.

  He bit back a laugh when she slid off the doorjamb. Luckily, he caught in time. He drew in a deep breath and looked at her as he held her up.

  “Definitely,” he said. “But first, I think I’ll tuck you in.”

  “Okay.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Are you a good tucker-inner?”

  He laughed at the old Jack Lemmon movie quote and carried her to her bed.

  “Aye.” He pulled the blanket over her and kissed her forehead. “Now go to sleep, young lady.”

  “Goodnight, Grant,” she said softly.

  “Night, Kylie.”

  “I could so fall in love with you . . . is that strange?” She whispered it so softly, if he were a mortal man he wouldn’t have heard it. But he did. A single blood tear rolled down his cheek and he walked into the bathroom. She continued to mumble to herself, wondering how it was possible she felt that way. He listened, staring into the mirror. When she quieted down, he washed the blood streak from his face.

  “I feel the same way, Ky.” He turned off the light and headed to his room. Gods, do I ever feel the same.

  Sleep wouldn’t come to him. He went in to check on Kylie, to make sure she was okay. He’d sensed someone’s presence earlier and knew the Master had an invitation into her home.

  Which meant he could get to either of them.

  Before he left the room, her hand moved slowly up her stomach, pulled up her shirt, and scratched the area around her left ribcage. A portion of her birthmark showed itself. He carefully moved her shirt up a bit more to see it. Funny —she brushed his hand away—Siobhán had that same mark on her, only hers was on her arm. It was also the same symbol as on the locket. He remembered why he’d placed the symbol on the locket—to have Siobhán’s own mark protect her by flesh and blood. No wonder Kylie was asking about it.

  He thought about earlier, when he was overwhelmed by her presence, by her touch. Damn, Ky, why do you make me feel this way? I feel mortal when I’m with you. I don’t understand.

  Grant watched her for some time before quietly turning around. Tobak looked up at him from where she lay. He smiled and winked at her, and she put her head down. He turned his attention outside. The French doors were still open and the cool breeze coming through felt good against his skin, but there was something else.

  Cianán was still nearby . . . and calling him.

  Go figure.

  Grant stood and walked to the patio. He wasn’t ready to tell Kylie about himself yet, especially since he didn’t know how she’d react to such a revelation—vampyres being real. It was time to confront Cianán anyway. They hadn’t seen each other in a while and needed to talk. He also didn’t believe Cianán was ready to reveal himself, which was why he called from several miles away.

  The gentle breeze flowed through his long black mane. He heard Cianán’s voice on the wind—a sound he hadn’t heard in a long time, but it was definitely Cianán. The call was unmistakable, similar to a mother wolf calling for her cubs, but much, much deeper. The wolf was one of Cianán’s favorite forms. Rather fitting that he’d use it. Tobak woke, hearing the call as well. He was surprised she wasn’t outside searching the yard.

  He turned to the west looking for him. There you are. He ran across the yard—a blur with his speed. Wings sprouted from his bare back and he jumped into the night.

  Grant soared the desert skies, searching for sign of his Master. The call came again, louder. Grant spotted him and glided down quietly.

  Cianán stood under the boulders waiting for his rogue progeny. He felt his approach and anticipated seeing this child of his again. The last time they’d met, things hadn’t gone well. Not to mention, he called to him for a specific reason.

  “You called?”

  Cianán spun around and grinned. “Aye. What took ye so long?”

  Grant stood behind him on one of the boulders. “Does it matter?”

  “Ye know it does,” Cianán replied sternly, eyes narrowed.

  “What I find interesting,” Grant said, “is that you’re not normally so easily surprised. Age getting to you, father?” He smirked.

  Cianán sneered. He hated the tone Grantlund used when calling him father. “Perhaps ye should stay out o’ my affairs an’ not underestimate me. I’d hate to see ye dead.”

  “Aye, I know. I’m most certain ye would, father.” Grant shifted his footing on the boulder. “Why’d you call me?”

  “Where is she?”

  “Where is who?”

  “Ye know who. I saw ye with ‘er today.” This child of his enjoyed playing games; always had. If Grantlund hadn’t decided to leave on his own, he’d likely have tossed him out of the coven.

  Which would have meant death back then.

  Grant stepped to the edge of the boulder and sat. His arms cradled his knees. “My, aren’t we in a lovely mood this evening? What were you doing out in the sun today, getting a tan? I thought you despised it.”

  “Ye know it true. Stop evadin’ the question; tell me what you’ve done with ‘er.”

  Grant turned his eyes to the stars and sighed. “I haven’t the faintest idea who or what you’re talking about.”

  Cianán’s face flushed with heat and he drew in a deep breath. He didn’t have time for this childishness. “Aye. You. Do. Kylie, I’m talking about Kylie. Ye were with ‘er today, in the art district. Hell, ye were at her house just now. I can smell her on ye.”

  Grant smiled and asked Cianán the question he’d been waiting to ask for the last six hundred years. “How does it feel?”

/>   Cianán sneered.

  Grant looked to the sky again. “Kylie, Kylie, Kylie. She’s such a lovely woman. Her beauty runs deep . . . Well, I suppose you would know now, wouldn’t you?”

  “Aye. You also think she resembles Siobhán.”

  Grant jumped off the boulder, landing in front of him. “Not just resembles her, she is her,” he said sharply and wished he hadn’t. He knew it wasn’t true.

  “Oh?” Cianán looked at him curiously. “You’re in love with ‘er. How could ye fall in love in such a short time? Best be careful, Grantlund, ye recall what happened the last time ye fell in love.”

  Grant remembered all right. How could he forget? “I don’t want you near her.” Seeing the birthmark on her confirmed what Cianán had planned.

  “Me? What of ye, child?”

  “If it wasn’t for you, Siobhán wouldn’t have died.”

  “I think you’re mistaken. ‘Twas her destiny to be with me, a destiny she couldn’t fulfill because of you. You’re the cause of her death. Not me.”

  “Are you crazy? I loved her.”

  “As did I.”

  Grant ignored him, knowing it wasn’t true. “I’d never have done anything to harm her.”

  “And you’re saying I would?”

  “Aye . . . you did. Or you were going to. I know what you had planned for her.” He pointed his finger and shoved him. He glared into Cianán’s now red eyes. “You took her away from me. She belonged to me an’ you stole her.” Grant’s fangs forced their way down.

  “Ye were already dead.”

  Nature around them went silent. Not a slither through the sand, or the hoot of an owl. Crickets ceased their chirping, and coyotes stood still in the distance.

  “Only because you changed me,” Grant replied. “An’ because o’ that, I couldn’t show myself to her.”

  “Ye could ‘ave—”

  “Right, an’ have her do what, welcome her dead fiancé with open arms?” He threw his arms in the air.

  Cianán shrugged. “I don’ see why not? She would have accepted ye still, as Kylie has . . . oh, she doesn’t know what ye are yet, does she?”