Guardian by Blood

by Evie Byrne

  “No, she never said.”

  He laughed. “And I suppose you didn’t know you met with the Council at Maren’s house the other night.”

  “You mean, when we had…but we didn’t talk about anything important.” Her mind raced back over the conversation, and she began to reconstruct it in this new light. “Oh, you people are tricky.”

  He smiled. “Based on that conversation, they decided you were trustworthy. They gave me their blessing to continue negotiations. The prince, or his regent, is closely advised by the Council.”

  “The prince is not in absolute command? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “The Council manages what you might call our ‘internal affairs’—everything from managing our herds to settling personal disputes. Meanwhile, the prince deals with all matters pertaining to the outside world.”

  “So with you missing, Maren would advise Gunnar as to the wishes of the Council, but the ultimate decision would be his.”

  “Right. I suspect Ivar will advise Gun, too, behind the scenes.”

  “No offense, but is that a good thing?”

  He chuckled. “Ivar is impulsive, but he’s no one’s fool. He’ll do good—as long as he doesn’t lose his temper.”

  She sighed. “Best case scenario—no one loses their temper, and both parties realize you and I are lost and need rescuing. Worst case—”

  “Worst case, the final battle starts, and I won’t even be there.” He ground his teeth in frustration. That idea, more than anything else, made him crazy.

  “You didn’t put that deer in the road.” She caressed his cheek, drawing his eyes toward hers. “I’ve never been religious, but from what you said, it sounds like you’re meant to be here right now.” A little hesitantly she added, “With me.”

  That flash of insecurity, so unlike her, hit him in the gut. He answered her with a kiss. Not a tender one, but a hungry one, grabbing a fistful of her hair at her nape, sending his other hand possessively down the line of her hip.

  Ever bold, she dropped her hand down his belly to stroke his cock and cup his balls. She smiled and vanished, sliding beneath the blanket. The next thing he knew, her hot mouth was on his—

  “You can’t!” he gasped, utterly shocked.

  “Mmm?” The vibration of her question shot through him like lightning. He sat up, bracing his hands against the floor.

  “Eva—it’s—oh, Sweet Mother! This is not allowed.”

  Her lips slid up his length, sucking, and then releasing. He almost wept with the pleasure of it. No wonder!

  “Not allowed?” she purred from the depths of the blanket. “I like the sound of that.” Like a cat, her tongue flicked at him, delicate, tasting, exploring. “Why isn’t it allowed?”

  “It’s for marriage.” He struggled to form words, coherent ones, words other than yes and more and please. “For married people. Only.”

  Married men bragged about this benefit to marriage. It was considered one of incentives to marriage. Now he knew why.

  “Don’t worry, you don’t have to marry me. I’m from out of town.” Once again her mouth slid over him, this time taking his length. His eyes rolled up.

  “No. But—Aah! What in the three hells are you doing to me, woman?”

  Again she released him. Oh, don’t stop. “Wait, is this your first time?”

  He looked down at the Eva-sized lump under the blanket. It was shaking. Laughing. “I’ve never been married,” he said, prim as a spinster.

  She flipped back the blanket and looked up at him, full of devilry. “A virgin victim. A taboo to be broken. I couldn’t be happier.” She cradled his aching cock between her two palms, as if engaged in some kind of obscene prayer.

  All he could do was repeat himself stupidly. “You can’t. It’s not allowed.”

  She ran her tongue up his length in one long, slow, swipe. “I think I should.”

  Watching her do this forbidden thing was twice as arousing as imagining it had been. Her long, rough tongue swirled around his sensitive head. He went dizzy as all his blood rushed into his cock. And he did not stop her.

  “You went down on me,” she murmured between laps. “Why can’t I reciprocate?”

  “Seed.” He yammered. Oh, he was a hypocrite. “It’s like blood. You can’t—”

  What she made of his rambling, he couldn’t tell, but she looked thoughtful. “I won’t swallow your…seed, if you prefer.” She smiled her wicked smile, the one that brought out her dimples. “You just let me know.” And with that, she opened her mouth and took him deep again.

  He gave up. She was born to tempt, that was all. And he was her willing victim. Letting go of his death grip on the dirt, he lay back, closed his eyes, and surrendered to the sensation. Sensing this, perhaps, she went to work with a will, doing indescribable, unimaginable things to him with her lips, teeth, hands, and tongue. He heard the wet, sucking noises her mouth made against his flesh, as well as her little moans of pleasure and satisfaction.

  The blanket slid off her back, allowing him to watch her bare bottom sway as she worked over him. He lost all restraint and began to moan and husk out, “Yes, that,” telling her what he liked most. If one sinned, one should sin well.

  At the end, he could not prevent his hips from twitching up in a steady rhythm, could not help but ask her to take more of him. And she did, making her mouth a vessel. He didn’t know, didn’t care, only knew this pleasure was like no other, and he wanted it to go on and on. Of course it couldn’t. And when knew he was about to spill, he remembered what she had said. She wouldn’t take his seed if he didn’t want her to. But he did. Forget the gods—he wanted her to consume him.

  Jerking upright, he bent over and whispered in her ear, “Drink.” As soon as he said it, he spurted. Pulsing, white-hot, wondrous release. She took him. He felt the contractions of her throat, the movement of her tongue as she drank every drop as if she believed it was holy.

  Sated, exhausted, he buried his face in her hair and breathed deep.

  “So, are we married now?” Eva said, as she pulled the blankets over them and snuggled against his side. Wat was in a gratifying stupor, his limbs sprawled, eyes glazed.

  “I drank your blood,” he said.

  That wasn’t an answer, but knowing Wat, one would come, so she waited to hear more about this newest Northwoods quirk. It took a while, but he finally began to speak, his voice deliciously low and slurred, his chest vibrating beneath her ear.

  “When a man and woman marry, they are one. One flesh. One soul. To symbolize this, during the ceremony they take each other’s blood. Just a taste. I think sometimes they take more, during the honeymoon, but no one speaks of it. When I took your blood, I took the Groom’s Right. When you took my seed, you took the Bride’s Right.”

  She laughed nervously, and hated herself for it. “So we are married?”

  “No.” He rolled to face her and toyed with the ends of her hair. “No, not married.” But the way he said it, the soft, wondering look in his eye, implied something else. Her heart did a slow roll in her chest.

  “But we know each other now, don’t we?” he said. All she could do was nod and curl up in his arms.

  A little while later, he got up, dressed, and built up the fire. Outside, the wind still blew hard, but no flakes fell through the hole in the ceiling. Eva dressed, too, and joined him. He offered her the can of hot water to drink. The bulge of the bag of tea in her pocket reminded her that she needed to attend to some practical matters.

  She poured a little of the powder in the bottom of a battered tin cup she'd found and topped it with the hot water. It seemed strange to drink it alone, instead of with a circle of women. It made her feel lonely, a little sad, a little cheap.

  Catching the scent, Wat said, “Women’s tea?”

  The surprise in his voice made her snap, “I didn’t steal it.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’m sorry. I just feel weird, drinking it.” She couldn
’t articulate her embarrassment, because it was so stupid. She’d never been shy about demanding condoms, but she didn’t want to drink the tea in front of him. No, she realized, the problem was she didn’t want to drink the tea at all. And that was scary. “I have to drink this,” she added, for herself more than him.

  “I know. I like the smell. All my—” He broke off out of some sense of backwoods delicacy. Of course all his lovers drank it. The mushroom scent of it must be as familiar to him as coffee. “My mother drank a cup every morning, right before bed.”

  Their eyes met. Was it her own obscure sorrow she saw reflected in his eyes? No, it was just her hormones running amok, screwing with her judgment. It was time to drink the tea and change the damned subject.

  “Your mother, I suppose she’s…?” She assumed his mother was dead, like so many of his people.

  “Alive is living outside of Seattle? Why yes, she is.”

  “Seattle?”

  He grinned at her surprise. “She and Da decided to go their own ways. And she wanted to live by the ocean, away from the snow. She left when Ivar and I were grown. Da stayed. He died about five years ago, fell through some ice.”

  “Oh, Wat. I’m sorry.”

  Wat lifted one palm, as if to forestall any pity. “He'd reached his centennial. It was his time."

  "One hundred is old, but it's not that old."

  He shook his head. "For a hunter it is ancient. He died as he wished. And it was a blessing for him not to have to live through…” he trailed off, looking away.

  Messier and messier. “Do you keep in touch with your mom?”

  “We write. She’s happy. Lives on a farm with a new man.”

  “You write actual paper letters with stamps and everything? Ah, so you’re the one who’s keeping the Postal Service open. I'd wondered.”

  Wat rolled his eyes at her attempt at wit. “What about your folks?”

  “They’re in L.A., together still, together for what is it now—sixty years? I was a late baby, a miracle. Their only child. They’re sweet, but they’ve grown way too much alike in their old age. They like to tag-team me.”

  With her Hand’s salary, she’d bought them a new car and installed a swimming pool in their yard. They liked doing water aerobics, but they didn’t like her working for Alya. Being a Hand was men’s work, they said. They missed her. They wanted her to quit.

  “They want you to marry and give them grandchildren.”

  “How did you ever guess?”

  “Parents are the same everywhere.” Her smile faded as his gaze grew serious, and she looked down at his folded hands. She let out her breath, her pulse thumping at the base of her neck.

  He looks at me, and I turn sixteen. What was it about him? He wasn’t like any other man she’d met, human or vamp. There was something so solid about him. She knew he’d stand by her through fire and flood, gunfire and bankruptcy. It would be so nice to be able to let down her guard once in a while. To have a partner.

  What a pathetic sap I've become. Her lips twisted in a wry smile, and she took a sip of tea.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

  “You.”

  He looked aside, embarrassed. She felt better, more on her game. “The night is old,” he said. “I think all we can do is get some rest and try to ignore our bellies. The storm is wearing itself out.”

  “And I assume I’m going to have to piss in that corner.” She nodded at the far end of the cabin.

  He shrugged. “It will take some work to clear your way out the door with the trowel. But you’re welcome to try.”

  “Ah. Intimacy.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wat needed sleep more than she did. He slept all day, past dusk and into the next night. Eva sat between him and fire, hugging her knees to her chest, studying him. The vamp men she knew back home were sculpted, plucked, trimmed, and polished smooth. Not that they weren’t dangerous or strong, but they liked to look urbane, whether they were attending a gallery opening or beating someone senseless. By comparison, Wat’s face was too irregular and rawboned. But she loved his strong jaw and his long mouth, which was bracketed by short lines, like parentheses—unless it was pulled sideways in his standard half-smile or, more rarely, spread into a full, boyish grin.

  She also loved the way his chin balanced his strong, crooked nose. No one, she was sure, had ever plucked his thick brows, but that just meant they set off his weird cat eyes all the better.

  Nope, it wasn’t a face meant to decorate an expensive penthouse or a glass-lined boardroom. He’d look good in a horned helmet. He’d look mighty fine swinging a sword.

  His eyes flicked open, and he put his finger to his lips. “Listen.”

  Her stomach chose that moment to rumble. They both laughed, but he held his finger to his lips again.

  Silence. The storm had broken.

  Their time together was over.

  Strange how excitement and regret could mix. Without speaking, they hurried to pull on their boots, hats, and gloves. Wat pried open the door, and a drift of snow tumbled in. He grabbed the hand shovel and started digging. Eva pitched in with her bare hands. They dug a tunnel straight out, because the snow had drifted against the cabin wall. Once Wat cut through that drift, he waded out, cutting a thigh-deep trail in the loose snow. She followed in his wake, first looking up at the black, black sky, studded with stars, and then around her at a strange, featureless, white landscape.

  The air was still and the land muffled into silence. No birds, no rustling, no nothing. A thick layer of fresh snow covered rock and bush and field, reducing everything to a lovely, smooth sameness. Only the tall trees escaped burial, but sheets of snow were piled precariously on their branches, waiting for the slightest breeze, or a shaft of warm sunlight, to spill them to the ground. She took a deep breath of fresh air. It was cold as a bitch, but it felt good.

  “I’ve never seen so much snow.”

  “It could have been more. We’re lucky.” As he spoke, he scanned the area, his eyes narrowed to slits, reading invisible signs.

  “How long until dawn, do you think?”

  Turning, he pointed to a constellation near the horizon. “Three hours, I’d give it.”

  “Not enough time to make a start.”

  He gave a sigh of agreement. “We have to start next dusk and pray for speed.”

  “My people could head out now, if they use helicopters.”

  “I don’t think so. They don’t want to be trapped out here come dawn, with the job half-finished and their pants around their ankles. They’ll wait.”

  “They’ll still get there first.”

  He lifted his hands. “And what would we say to them if we got there in time? What miraculous thing would we do to save the day?”

  “I could ask you, one last time, to submit to our rule. To move South peaceably.” She put her hand on his arm and added more softly. “So I can come visit you.”

  He looked down at her and mustered up a sad smile. “You would not like the man I would become. You’d not like me at all.”

  “Don’t tell me what I’d like or not like. I’d like you alive. I’d like Maren and Gunnar alive.”

  “Believe me, I'd sell my soul for a few more nights with you—but my people know their mind on the matter. You’re a Hand, and I’m regent to a deposed prince. Neither of us have much power when it comes down to it.”

  “Then why should we even go back?” She gestured back to the tiny cabin, wistful. “Could we live here?”

  “I have to fight.”

  “You know you don’t have a chance. Not half a chance.”

  “We might have some tricks up our sleeves.”

  “Then stop talking right now.” She turned away. She didn’t want to know anything she’d have to use against him.

  From behind her he said, “We need to eat. Will you help me?”

  He led her by the hand through a stand of trees, where the snow wasn’t as deep. She knew enough to be quie
t and step carefully. While she concentrated on not knocking snow from branches, he scanned the ground, the treetops and the horizon in a constant sweep, sometimes stopping for long, still moments. He was using his nose, too. In this clean, white world, she smelled pine and snow and nothing else.

  Soon he would kill something, and she would eat it. The idea of killing to feed still bothered her, but her body didn’t care about her qualms. The thought of blood, any blood, made her salivate. Rising adrenaline made her skin tingle.

  At the edge of the stand, he signaled a stop. It took her a moment to find what he was looking at. About twenty yards away, a snow mound in the clearing was shaking ever so slightly, shedding snow to reveal the bare, red branch tips of a bush. His hand tightened on hers. A white rabbit tunneled out from beneath the bush, ears spinning, nose twitching. Eva’s teeth extended.

  His hand came down on her shoulder, reminding her to behave herself. Lips at her ear, he said in that flat hunting voice of his, “Let me get into position. Do not move. Not an eyebrow. Watch. When I vanish, walk to the south, and drive it my way. Understand?”

  She nodded. Vanish?

  He nipped her earlobe and began to ghost away down the tree line. She watched the rabbit. It wasn’t facing their way, but those ears were busy, spinning in all directions like twin searchlights. Her own ears were quite good, but she couldn’t hear Wat moving, no matter how hard she strained. The rabbit hopped around the perimeter of the bush, pawing in the snow, and stopping often to listen. Wat had entered the clearing and was standing stock-still, knees half bent. He was doing that moving-while-not-moving trick she’d seen on the boar hunt. For as long as she could, she watched him, forcing herself not to blink. All that time, he didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. When her eyes began to water, she gave up and blinked. In that instant, he moved forward a step—and she missed it.

  The bunny was almost as stealthy as Wat. Eva watched them both make their glacial progress, shifting her eyes from one to the other, a spectator at the world’s slowest tennis match.