by Jen Colly
Rollin tried again, gentling his voice. “What are you running from?”
The woman’s focus returned in a flash, her eyes meeting his, her fear suddenly gone. Something clicked into place, as if she’d caught a passing memory. Her jaw dropped ever so slightly, and her lips trembled as she whispered a single word, “Demon.”
More than eager to kill the cause of her distress, Ivan drew his sword. In the span of a heartbeat, genuine fear reappeared, and the woman cried out, throwing herself back against Rollin’s chest. She burrowed close and clung to him as Ivan stalked down the walkway, retracing the path the woman had just run from the trees.
“He’s going to check the forest for demons,” he said softly to her. “You’re safe right here with me.”
He’d barely got the words out before she went limp in his arms, her knees buckling, no longer supporting her weight. Rollin caught her, locked her against his chest with one arm.
“Miss?” he asked, but she gave no response. Readjusting his hold, he tipped her head back over the crook of his elbow. Her eyes were closed, her eyelashes fanned over the tops of her cheeks. The tracks of her tears dampened her mascara, streaking the sooty black color down her cheeks. Rollin brushed her windblown hair from her face. She didn’t move.
“Miss, are you okay?” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. Nothing. She’d fainted. Rollin shifted her weight in his arms and pulled the radio from his side with his free hand. Static buzzed briefly before completing the connection.
“Briona.” Thrown by her somewhat less than speedy response, he didn’t wait long to try again. “Briona?”
“Know wha’ I count on, Guardian? You never need me. It’s why I shower when you’re at the gate,” Briona answered, her Irish accent coming through loud and clear, meaning she was already in a mood. “This had better be good.”
“Get me the captain. This is an emergency.”
“Bullshite, Guardian. I read tone for a living,” she said, and although she was sassing him, Rollin could tell she was simultaneously trying to find Soren. “Your problem is sun-sensitive at best… Got him.”
His radio cut off, and a few seconds later Captain Rayner’s voice came through. “What is it, Rollin?”
“Soren, I’ve got a female up here and a possible demon in the woods. Ivan went to check the forest. I don’t think we have a serious threat, but your gate is down two Guardians. If our relief has checked in, you might want to send them early.”
“I’ll be right up,” Soren said.
Rollin replaced the radio onto his belt, hooked his arm beneath the woman’s knees, and lifted her from the ground. The unconscious woman, her frantic arrival, and the silence surrounding them suddenly felt surreal.
Alert, expecting the other shoe to drop, Rollin listened intently as he looked out into the darkness. A demon was no match for Ivan, or even two for that matter, but something about this entire situation seemed off. Demons had in fact appeared in and around the city over the past several years, but they were few and far between, acting more like scouts than men on the attack. Had this woman found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time? Why had she been in the forest alone and near dawn? Admittedly, he didn’t know every citizen of Balinese, but she didn’t act as if she was coming home.
Rollin suddenly realized he’d been swaying back and forth, a subconscious attempt at comforting the woman. He’d seen mothers behave the same way years after their children had grown too large to hold. The moment they held another little one, or sat beside a mother holding an infant, the impulse to rock returned. He’d adopted the habit as well. Oriana had been only two years old when they’d first become a family, and he’d rocked her to sleep most nights. Sometimes he wondered if he’d needed the comfort more than Oriana.
The woman in his arms drew in a deep, shaky breath and whimpered. A tear spilled from the corner of her eye, disappearing into her hair.
He changed his hold again to better position her head and whispered, “Hey, hush now. You’re safe.”
She seemed to settle once again. Was she conscious? He couldn’t quite tell. Her reaction might have been in response to his tone, unless she’d actually heard his words. Why pretend otherwise?
The door to the chateau opened behind him and Soren waited inside, two Guardians at his back. Osric, the silent and imposing shadow on the left, and Dyre, Cat’s former partner, who was on rotation nearly as often as Rollin, mainly because his level personality meshed well with difficult Guardians.
“What’s wrong with her?” Soren asked as he approached. The Captain of the Guardians never wasted time mincing words.
“Not sure yet. She passed out. I think she’s just exhausted, but she could be injured,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “She didn’t have much of a chance to speak.”
Soren stepped closer to get a better look at the woman in his arms. “She’s not from Balinese. You’re certain she’s vampire?”
“As far as I can tell.”
“Take her inside,” Soren said. “Get her checked out.”
Osric and Soren stepped aside to allow him entry, and Rollin tucked the woman’s head under his chin, trying not to let his long strides jostle her as he quickly moved through the large great room and into the kitchen. His hasty retreat would gain curious gazes from the Guardians, but he didn’t give a damn. She was his priority.
Rollin quickly descended the stairs through the kitchen door. In the cellar, between stacked wine barrels, was the door to Balinese. Rollin stepped through the doorway and into the long, barren hallway that skirted the edge of the city. He turned left, carrying the woman down the corridor and directly into a makeshift recovery room. Plain and simple, the purpose of this room was to temporarily treat anyone too injured to travel to the doctor.
Only the necessities were stocked. A twin bed had been pushed up against the wall, a small sink, and a cupboard full of medical supplies. This room had been set up directly after the demon attack, but had barely been used since, though he had nothing against being prepared. Rollin had caught a Guardian or two taking a nap in here after shift.
Rollin leaned down to place the woman on the bed, but her fingers curled, grasping his shirt and holding tight. More signs she’d never truly fainted. Or had the sudden feeling of being dropped caused her to regain awareness?
“I’m setting you down. Save your strength,” he said, uncurling her fingers from his shirt as he eased her onto the mattress. “I won’t leave you. Promise.”
“You make promises?” she mumbled, her eyes still closed. “I like promises.”
He peered down at her curiously. She wasn’t unconscious, but she wasn’t exactly conscious either. She was out of it. Weak. Had she been injured? No bites marred her neck. Cuts and scrapes along her arms verified her story of running through the trees, but these wouldn’t drain her strength. Her fear, though inconsistent, had appeared real. At this point, he didn’t know what to believe.
The multiple layers of skirts and the black fabric of her dress made it hard to pinpoint physical injury, so he focused on the white polka dots. No blood marred the white circles, only mud. It was possible she’d sustained internal damage somehow, but she hadn’t acted as if she were in pain.
Why would a female travel alone? Vampires from all over Europe sought the city of peace, begging asylum from past crimes, longing for a clean slate that could only be found in Balinese. Truly, she could have come from anywhere, except for the fact that she’d been on foot. His gaze went straight to her toes. Bare foot.
Rollin curled his hand beneath her ankle and carefully lifted her foot. Mud and debris caked the soles of her feet, but beneath the compacted mess, blood seeped through. The forest floor had shredded her feet.
“Oh, sweetheart. How far did you run without shoes?” His anguished words poured out in a whisper.
Rollin sprang into action. He turned on the sink bef
ore searching the cupboard, giving the water time to heat. Grabbing a washcloth, gauze, and tweezers, he stacked them in a small bowl.
No, her injuries weren’t life threatening, but he had to clean the wounds. Rollin didn’t know how badly her feet were cut under all that mud, but the sooner he found out, the better chance she would have of healing quickly and without permanent damage.
She moved on the bed behind him, a whisper of sound that might have been her arm sliding across the sheet. He turned sharply, but she hadn’t woken. Perhaps she’d only moved in her sleep.
He grabbed a second bowl, filled it with hot water, and brought everything to the foot of the bed. Kneeling on the floor, he dumped the supplies out. Rollin carefully pulled the first chunk of mud from her foot. She didn’t even flinch. Small bits of leaves came off with the mud and he tossed the mess into the bowl. As he peeled off the layers, blood flowed, the wounds no longer sealed shut.
When the largest pieces were removed, he set to dislodging several small stones embedded into the soles of her feet. Working with tweezers had never been his strong suit. His fingers were large, the tweezers small, and stones hard to grip. Some of the larger stones popped right out, but when he finally got the tweezers around the last jagged stone, he had to tug to remove it from her skin.
She whimpered and rolled to avoid his touch, pulling her foot from his hand. “It hurts,” she said, her face turned to the mattress.
“I know it does, and I’m sorry,” Rollin said sincerely as he cupped his hand around the top of her foot and brought it back to him. “I’m almost done.”
She didn’t speak again, or try to pull away. Instead, she bit her lip and clenched her fingers into the sheets, as if preparing to endure more pain. The worst should be over, but he couldn’t yet see the wounds clearly. Squeezing the water from the washcloth, he carefully cleaned her feet, washing away any lingering dirt and blood from the open cuts. Truly, it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Rollin wrapped both her feet tightly with gauze, confident that no more medical attention was needed.
Returning to the sink, he rinsed off the washcloth and tweezers, but couldn’t keep from glancing back at her. She lay on the small bed all tense, clearly mindful, but somehow not present. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what seemed off about her. At first he’d thought her fainting an act, and was still half certain it had been, but her currently frail state seemed genuine.
Heading back to the bed, Rollin stopped, instantly noting the bright crimson blood soaking through the clean white gauze. Several of the gashes had been deep, red and inflamed, but he’d done enough field dressings to know coagulation should have begun immediately.
He glanced up to find her fingers had gone slack, though they still tangled in the sheet. Now she was definitely unconscious. What was happening here? He’d seen her small fangs as she’d called out for help, meaning she was most certainly vampire, but she was bleeding like a human.
Rollin had sincere suspicions and concerns about this woman. He doubted her tale of the demon, enough that he’d told Soren there was no threat, but something in that forest terrified her. Her fear of Ivan was tangible. And her need for blood? A reality.
If her healing capabilities had slowed to that of a human, then she must have somehow been depleted of blood. For a vampire, this was a life-threatening condition, especially if there was any chance of internal bleeding.
Lies or no, the woman needed to feed.
Chapter 6
Balinese
Bette woke to the sensation of a large hand on her shoulder, shaking her. Panic surged through her, and while she intended to swat away the man’s hand, her muscles refused to obey, her arm barely lifting from the bed. She’d finally been caught, and in this weak state, it was all over. Helpless even to struggle, she could only plead, “Don’t hurt me.”
“The demon is not here. You’re safe.” The man’s deep voice came to her, pushing past her inner turmoil, his tone and his words comforting.
Demon? What demon? Bette looked up, and into the concerned eyes of a vaguely familiar man. Oh, her Guardian! Not only had her ruse gained her entry to the city, the Guardian had stayed by her side. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought a man, a stranger, would be kind and protective.
A wave of exhaustion suddenly hit her hard. Her eyelids floated shut, and she whispered, “I’m safe.”
“Miss?” he called, giving her arm a firm shake. “I need you to stay awake. You’re not healing. What happened to you?”
“I might have taken Spirit.” Her mumbled words were yet another lie. She didn’t have the ability to take Spirit, but the phenomenon was said to occur in fight-or-flight situations. In theory, the use of Spirit could deplete her as completely as her lengthy blood starvation.
“Well, if you did, it drained you. The bleeding won’t stop and your body can’t decide if it wants to shut down. You’ll have to feed,” he said, a finality in his tone, as if he’d decided for her.
“I’m safe,” she said on a sigh, then repeated the words like a mantra. “I’m safe…I’m safe…I’m safe.”
The bed dipped as he sat beside her, and before she could even decide if this was a good or bad turn of events, he pulled her onto his lap and laid her head on his shoulder. In a louder voice, he coaxed, “You won’t be safe unless you feed. Now, you’re right there, just go on and bite me.”
Bette sobered at his command, opening her eyes to the inviting sight of his thick, muscled neck. He was serious, offering his blood selflessly. What he was urging her to do would create an immediate physical intimacy between them, and she couldn’t afford to let this opportunity pass.
At the thought of sinking her teeth into his neck, she licked her lips and inched closer, but then hesitated. She’d hoped to have time to become acquainted with the man she’d chosen, to learn how to please him. She hadn’t taken blood in…it didn’t matter how long. The act of extracting blood was simple. Sink and drink. But there was an art to bringing pleasure. One she feared she might not remember.
She was wrapped in the warm comfort of his strong arms, the temptation of all that smooth skin inches away too great to resist. Her lips grazed the base of his neck softly, and to her utter delight, she felt a small shiver shake his impressive shoulders. His chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath, and held it, as if in preparation to handle what came next. She’d done that with one kiss?
Slowly, Bette brought her hand up his chest and over his shoulder, deliberately taking her time. She cupped the opposite side of his neck, and the Guardian did something surprising. He leaned into her hand, completely exposing his vein to her.
Was he truly such a testosterone-driven male that these little yearning gestures from a female sent him right to the edge? Perhaps seducing him would be much easier than she’d thought. Could she do this? Could she actually let go of her proper aristocratic manners and become a seductress?
He released the breath he’d been holding, and his ragged exhale sparked a long-buried desire within her. With this man, she could absolutely become addicted to creating these kinds of reactions.
His responsiveness gave her courage, and Bette leaned close, placing a nipping kiss to his collarbone. As she followed the vein up the side of his neck, his breath quickened and he clutched her to him.
“Please.” His voice had gone husky, and suddenly feeding her was no longer about her need, but his.
With a small, satisfied smile, she did as he asked. Parting her lips, she pierced his flesh, sliding her fangs in ever so slowly. The snug sensation of warm flesh surrounding her fangs was a long-forgotten pleasure, and his sweet blood on her tongue the elixir of life she’d thought never to taste again.
His fingers flexed, biting into her arm as he groaned deeply, the vibrations making a lovely buzzing sensation against her lips. Bette pushed down her own needs and drank slowly, dragging out her Guardian’s pleasure fo
r as long as she dared.
When he was gasping in short, tight breaths, his large body shuddering in pleasure, she slid her teeth from him and sealed the bite with a long kiss, savoring the taste of his skin. He groaned, a drawn-out sound of half pleasure, half torment.
Bette bit down on her lip to dampen her reaction to that completely male expression of longing. Whatever she made him feel, roiling lust was certainly on the list. She peeked at him from beneath her eyelashes. Head thrown back, eyes shut, and jaw clenched, he was fully entrenched in the blissful aftermath of her feeding. He was beautiful.
It took her Guardian a moment to pull himself together, and when he did, his passion-laced gaze met hers. Bette fortified herself for what was to come. She knew how her bite would affect him, and now she was moments away from gaining the full force of his sexual attentions, or perhaps even a return bite.
The Guardian, with an infinitely greater amount of strength and power, merely gathered her close, hugged her tight, and leaned back. Resting against the headboard, he held her protectively. Nestled securely in the arms of this large man, Bette didn’t exactly know what to think. She’d expected him to act on his lust, to finish what she’d started now that he’d had a taste of the pleasure she could give him, because that was the way of men. Not her Guardian.
Bette should have been thrilled he was riding out her bite instead of acting upon his desires, but disappointment seeped in, took over. If this was her one chance, then she’d failed. Without physical intimacy, it could take months to build a relationship, and she didn’t have that kind of time.
He gave her a slight squeeze, and then in a desire-drugged voice, he said, “Relax. Let my blood heal your body. I won’t leave you.”
Bette sighed and curled against him, head on his broad chest. The rhythmic movement of his breathing and the steady beating of his heart beneath her hand were long-forgotten pleasures, and she burrowed closer. His touch was unfamiliar, but oddly comforting.
