“Not even death could keep you from me,” he said at last.
He closed the distance between them and she forgot there was anyone else in the room. The world had become Alaric, all else was forgotten. The smell of him, of the leather he wore and the more potent aroma of the man beneath made her heady with desire. She felt her knees buckle beneath her. Feeling her hands go limp, she heard the book clatter to the floor. Breathing became a struggle and she was certain she would have collapsed, had not Alaric been there to catch her. She feared he would close his arms around her chest, squeeze the life out of her with his inhuman strength and she’d be powerless to stop him. Instead, he held her away from him and studied her face.
“Smenkhare?” he said. His voice held a hint of shock. “Smenkhare,” he repeated. This time his voice held steady and he sounded sure of himself. “You’ve come back to me.”
Al-Kenna began to deny his claim, but he continued.
“Are you really here, or is this some cruel joke? Am I going to wake up alone as I have a thousand nights before?”
The pain in his voice tugged at her heart. For a moment, she wished, wished with all of her being that she were Smenkhare. Wished that she were the true object of such complete love… the object of his love.
“But you are real, aren’t you? I can never touch you in my dreams. I can never feel you.”
As if to test his hypothesis, he pressed his hands against her face. Then, he ran his fingers over her skin, brushed her eyelids with the tips of his fingers, and stroked her lips with the pad of his thumb.
He breathed heavily into the air, eyes wide and unbelieving.
“I can never do this,” he said. Squeezing her shoulders, then running his hands down the length of her arms. “Or this.”
For a moment, she thought he’d kiss her. She found herself wanting the touch of his lips, of his tongue. Instead, though, he set his hands around her waist and lifted. A chirp of surprise fell from her lips as, effortlessly, he raised her off the ground and closed her in an embrace so tight, it crushed the air out of her lungs. He hugged her to him, squeezing tighter still and murmuring into her ear that he loved her. His voice trembled with emotion.
Unthinking, swept up in the emotion of the moment, she closed her arms around him and returned his embrace. The allure of his golden brown hair was too much and she found herself running her fingers through the long, wavy strands. She breathed in the scent of him. She could smell his cologne, probably some expensive brand that cost a fortune. But beneath the cologne, beneath the smell of his shampoo, and beneath the leather she could smell the real man. The primal, untamed man he was despite the luxuriant clothes and fineries he filled his life with now. The smell of him was like coming home.
That thought scared her. But before she could think further on it, she realized he was moving, walking. In surprise, she found herself falling backward onto the sofa. She felt supple leather beneath her skin. A second later, he was on top of her, crushing her to the couch beneath him with his weight.
“Get out, Raven. And take Damon with you,” he called.
She would have protested, but he brought his mouth down on hers, hard enough to bruise. She didn’t think. Couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. When she felt his tongue against hers, she moaned. Settling his body comfortably against hers, he deepened the kiss, working his tongue in and out of her mouth so lusciously she thought she’d lose her mind. Heat swept through her body and she felt scorched.
“Love you,” she said into his mouth even as he confessed his love of her.
She closed her eyes, letting her emotions guide her for once. But too soon, he drew away from her. At the absence of his heat, she opened her eyes.
And screamed.
All was lost as sudden fear tumbled through her.
He’d raised himself on his elbows to stare down at her. His chest heaved and she felt something hard pressing insistently against her thigh. But she couldn’t think about that. What worried her were the fangs, the way his skin was blanching before her eyes, and those lovely gray eyes that had just become completely clear.
She screamed and struggled beneath him.
She heard male voices calling to Alaric, the Spaniard and the Russian, but Alaric didn’t seem to hear them.
“You know the pain is brief and the pleasure endless, love. I wouldn’t harm you, but I have to taste you. I have to have all of you. It’s been so long.”
She kicked her legs and tried to push him off of her, but he was immovable. She was strong, but he was stronger. She felt like a child struggling against a grown man. This was how it felt when the Warlord had begun her training.
She tried to hit him with her fists. Easily, though, he captured them both in one hand and pinned them to the sofa over her head. The body that had seemed so luscious and tempting before now seemed like an immovable weight.
“Alaric!” Damon and Raven grabbed Alaric by the arms and struggled to pull him off her. Alaric was in a panic. He seemed to have finally realized he was scaring the crap out of her.
“Hush,” he crooned. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long. Too long. Of course you’d be afraid. I wasn’t thinking.” He spoke so fast, she barely caught his words.
He wrestled an arm free of Damon and set a finger over her lips as she opened her mouth to scream again, and bid her to hush.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I’d die before I hurt you.” With that, he let himself be lifted. She jerked upright on the sofa and scrambled to the other end. “Don’t scream. I won’t hurt you,” he insisted.
Even as he said this, she realized his canines were returning to their normal, non-dangerous length. His skin returned to its normal color and his eyes, though still inhumanly light, looked as they had earlier.
She rocketed off the sofa. In less than a second, she had her hand closed over the handle of her dagger and was backing toward the library door. She pulled it free of its sheath and held it out before her.
His confusion was obvious. He shook off Raven and Damon and started toward her.
“No, Alaric,” Raven said. “Leave her alone.”
“Stay back,” she said, giving the air a swipe with the blade. “I mean it.”
“A knife?” Alaric asked. “Still as kinky as ever, aren’t you, love?” he asked with a grin, still advancing on her.
“I mean it.” She gave the air another swipe. “I know how to use this.”
“I see. You’ve done a quite the job cutting the air to ribbons. But then, you were never a fighter, were you? You don’t have to prove yourself to me. Now that I’m here, I’ll keep you safe.”
“Never a fighter,” she repeated. Juvenile ire rose at those words. She was tired of men telling her she wasn’t a warrior, but a woman.
Alaric was about to step forward again, but he was suddenly airborne. He flew through the air, as if pulled by an invisible string, and landed at the foot of a bookcase. Raven was standing over Alaric before Alaric could get to his feet. When Alaric moved to stand, Raven gave him a hard shove that sent him sprawling onto the floor a second time.
“She’s the Warlord’s daughter!” Raven hissed. “Would you jeopardize everything with your adolescent behavior? That you would try to bite her…” Raven sputtered for a moment, his rage so extreme, he couldn’t find appropriate words. “You fool of a vampire, have you no idea what the Warlord would do if he found out you feasted on his child? Leader of the Alliance or no, he would seek your head.”
Alaric’s eyes darted from Raven, to Damon, then fixed on Al-Kenna. “She was mine before she was his.” He sat up, but with Raven still standing over him, he seemed to think better of trying to get to his feet again. His eyes bored into Al-Kenna. “I will have you again…Al-Kenna. That’s a promise.”
Unable to take her eyes off him, she stumbled backward toward the door. She didn’t see Damon approaching until he closed his hand over her arm. She nearly leap
t out of her skin.
“Go,” he said.
And she did. As though the gentle urge was all she needed to free her of Alaric’s gaze, she spun on her heels and ran.
She moved down the hall, through the parlor, and up the stairs. When she got to her bedroom, she exploded through her door. She turned quickly, locked it, then set a chair beneath the knob. Out of breath and at a loss for what to do, she stood in the center of her room and stared at the door, half expecting Alaric to burst through the wood at any second.
After a minute passed and nothing happened, she began to feel at ease. Common sense kicked in and she went to the armoire where she kept her store of weapons. Then she realized she couldn’t very well arm herself in her nightgown. She rushed to her closet, removed her gown, shoved her legs into leggings and pulled a tank top over her head. That done, she returned to her armoire and began grabbing weapons. She eased her arms into the double holster and set her matching Berettas in it. She found two arm sheaths, slid them on, and set a dagger in each sheath. She thought about grabbing her sword, but then thought better of it. She didn’t want to kill Alaric, after all; she only wanted to protect herself. Protect herself from his kisses, and his touch, and from the emotions he made her feel. She had wanted to know what it felt like to be Smenkhare, she reminded herself. But she hadn’t counted on the fact that Alaric the vampire would behave so much like a vampire. He tried to bite her.
Instead of filling her with the disgust it should have, the memory made her dizzy with desire.
She had to go to her bed and sit. The thought of his lips pressed to her throat, the feel of his body on top of hers…it was too much.
She lay back, intending only to close her eyes for a moment, and fell asleep.
Chapter Twelve
Alaric stood alone, the soft glow of the nearly burnt out light bulb causing the room to flicker light and dark. Alaric had never been a religious man, not even while he was alive, but if he had a sanctuary, a place he would call sacred, it would be just such a place as this. For years now, whenever he needed to be alone, to think, or when his soul was at its deepest unrest, he always found himself within the walls of whatever library he could find.
He walked around the room, savoring this time with the old texts and ancient manuscripts. He loved books. And though initially he was hesitant to take refuge in an Ikari compound, he was glad he had. Had any scholar or collector known of the storehouse of history collected within these walls, they would have murdered to get their hands on it.
The archives, as Caleb had called the place where they were to sleep, were separated into sections. Coffins—why the Ikari had coffins was anybody’s guess—were set between two rows of books within what Caleb had called the Immortals section. The walls were covered with depictions of Watchers descending from the heavens and lying with human females. This was the story of the birth of the vampyr and beastmen.
He could spend years within this room and never grow bored. Though the books weren’t the only draw for him. Had the Warlord rescinded his offer of sanctuary, Alaric wouldn’t have left. Not so long as she was here.
Quite suddenly, eternity stretched unbearably before him. How had he lasted so long without her? And how much longer could he last alone, now that he’d seen Al-Kenna?
“Are you ready for tomorrow’s meeting?”
Startled from his reverie, Alaric turned to face Damon. The vampire had come to him in silence. Alaric hadn’t even known he was standing behind him until Damon had spoken. More than anything else, this spoke to him of his present emotional state. “Of course,” Alaric said.
Alaric returned his attention to the murals. “Everything will run smoothly. This new threat actually makes me feel better about tomorrow night. This should show the beastmen that the threat is real.”
“Do you think Figlio will come?”
Alaric shrugged. “We better hope he does. Go to sleep now, Damon. I need time to think.”
Though he made no sound, Alaric knew Damon hadn’t moved to his coffin but remained rooted to the spot, staring at him.
“All the immortals need your strength, Alaric. The Nephilim to us are what we are to humans. They’ll be scared and they’ll need you to—”
“I know well what they need.”
“Forget about her, Alaric. She’s not Smenkhare. When will you let Smenkhare go? She’s dead.”
Alaric spun. “Don’t you think I know that? Damn you, Damon, don’t you think I know? Every day of every week of every month of every year, don’t you think I know? But Al-Kenna…Al-Kenna has her face and her voice, she even moves like Smenkhare. Isn’t it possible Smenkhare has come back to me?”
“You can’t go on like this. Especially now. You can’t waste time thinking about her. The Alliance needs you lucid. All your attention must be focused on the problem.”
“I know,” he hissed.
“Then forget her.”
Alaric shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and rested his head against the bookcase to his left. He was so tired, he could barely focus his attention on making it to his coffin to sleep. “I have to see her again,” he said.
“Are you mad? You can’t. You nearly bit her tonight. Raven is right, that would have been a disaster.”
“I know. I got emotional, wasn’t thinking. I wouldn’t do that again. Tomorrow, I’ll find her before we leave. I’ll be gentle and I won’t scare her.”
Damon shook his head. “She won’t be at the compound. Raven said the Warlord is sending her away with all the women and children. By the time we wake, she’ll be gone.”
“Where?”
“Do you think he’d tell Raven?”
Alaric reached into the bookcase and removed a book. The covers were sun-bleached and the pages had yellowed with time. In comparison to his own life, the book wasn’t very old; nevertheless, it was old enough.
Damon focused on it and shrugged. “What’s that?”
“The book Al-Kenna was holding when she came down to the library. I took it.”
“Please don’t tell me your Smenkhare loved to read, because I won’t believe you for a minute.”
Alaric shook his head. “This book is about me, Damon. About my life. About Alaric the Cruel and Smenkhare. And this page had a marker in it.”
He opened the book and held it for Damon to see.
Damon looked at the picture of the painting, then stared up at the ceiling.
“She was reading about me, Damon. She bookmarked the painting of me. Don’t you see? She knows who she is. She feels the connection as strongly as I do.”
“You’re a good-looking man, Alaric. Any female would bookmark an image of your face. It means nothing.”
Alaric swallowed and turned to face the wall.
“Please, Alaric, let her go.”
“I can’t.”
Chapter Thirteen
Normally, Al-Kenna loved attending morning mass. Father Caleb’s homily was always an education, but this morning, she could scarce listen to a word he said. Try as she might, her mind constantly retured to Alaric.
He’d been more beautiful than she ever imagined. Not even that book had been able to capture the wonder that was his face. Every feature, every hair, every part of him seemed divinely inspired. And he was so big. Bigger than most Ikari, save the Warlord. She barely reached his shoulders. When he held her, she thought she could lose herself in him.
Something sharp poked Al-Kenna’s ribs and made her look up. Jesse, who’d been sitting beside her a second ago, was kneeling in the pew. In the sanctuary balcony, she belatedly realized the choir had raised their voices.
“Holy! Holy! Holy Lord. God of power, God of might, heaven and earth are full of your glory…” they sang.
“The Eucharist,” Jesse said. “Kneel. The Warlord is watching you.”
She slid off the pew and knelt beside Jesse.
“What’s with you?” Jesse whispered. “You’ve been acting strange all morning.”
�
�Shh. Not now.”
Father Caleb stood behind the altar, speaking in a voice that filled the room. “Lord, you are holy indeed, the fountain of all holiness…” he said.
Guilt washed over Al-Kenna as she knelt. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the words Father Caleb was saying, but her mind had turned against her. Close her eyes, and Alaric’s face popped up behind her closed eyelids. Open them, and her desire to see him standing before her nearly overwhelmed her. Here she was at mass, about to receive the most holy of holies, and she was obsessing over a vampire. A vampire who had to be the most handsome creature ever made. 'Creature' being the operative word. She had to remember that. Alaric was a monster, a drinker of blood. The fact that he believed she was his long lost love was something she should forget.
“Let us proclaim the mystery of faith,” Father Caleb sang off-tune.
Immediately, the pianist began to play and the choir sang, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again…”
Al-Kenna forced herself to sing along, but the act of singing only made her feel guiltier.
Ten minutes later, after she received the Eucharist, she felt guiltier still. Having Jesse beside her, whispering into her ear that if she’d make out with him today, he’d tell her everything that happened at the meeting last night, didn’t help. She was standing now, trying to sing along as the choir sang the closing hymn, and wishing she could go to her room and lock herself in.
She couldn’t imagine kissing Jesse, now that she’d experienced Alaric. Alaric’s tongue hadn’t darted against hers with the insecurity Jesse had displayed. Alaric’s kiss had been eager and hungry. It had done strange things to her, made her stomach feel all trembly, like a hundred butterflies were fluttering around inside. Her knees had felt so weak, she’d been grateful he’d lifted her off them and carried her to the couch. There had been nothing unsure about Alaric.
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