A little thought darted through his brain. He pushed it down. He sat up and put his arms across his knees. "What about the blood?"
She looked down. "I need about a cup every fortnight or so. That must seem horrible to you. But I don't kill anyone. And I can erase their memory, or supplant it with some better one; that they had wonderful sex, for instance, or that they are handsome."
So far, so good. He could live with that. "And do they become vampires?" If they did, he might already be one.
She gave a weary chuckle. "Of course not, else the world would be littered with vampires. No, our kind survives in a delicate balance with humans. It is strictly forbidden to make a human vampire."
"And how does one do that?" He made his voice as neutral as he could.
"Well, you have to get some of my blood in your system somehow—an open wound, for instance." She tried on a smile. It came out lopsided. "I've been very careful, though. You're not infected. You'd know because you get sick immediately, and you'd die without infusions of a vampire's blood for the first three days, to give you immunity to the effects of the parasite on the human system."
"So, let me get this straight. Strength. Heightened senses. Heightened sexuality. The ability to compel others. You can disappear, and you're immortal. And the blood. Anything else I should know about?"
She raised her brows. "That is all, I think.""And you love me. And you believe I love you."She nodded slowly. He took a breath. In for a penny in for a pound. He couldn't imagine life without her. And if she stayed with him and left him human, the differences between them would drive them apart. "So why not make me vampire?"
She hugged herself, covering her breasts. "I told you, it is forbidden."
"We're not talking about making hundreds here. Just one."
"If you covet eternity, let me tell you, it is a terrible burden, not a benefit."
It was as though she had slapped him. But he forged ahead. "Do you really think that of me?"
She shook her head, but she was growing more agitated by the moment.
"It would be easier with two facing eternity together." "You don't understand." She was almost pleading with him. "When love dies you'd be left a vampire. Did I mention it is impossible for us to commit suicide? The Companion's urge to life doesn't allow that kind of escape."
"And what if the love doesn't die, Freya? If I'm not vampire, our differences will stand between us. It might be better if we parted now."
"I know," she whispered. Her eyes were big with pain.She was giving up. Tears rose to her eyes. It was up to him, then. He reached out and took her shoulders. "Be bold, Freya. Seize what we might make of this. Take back your life from your father, and all these rules you've been forced to live by. Let's carve our own place, make our own rules." He couldn't keep the pleading out of his voice.
Drew felt a hum of life against his spine. There was a new energy in the room, more powerful by far than Freya's. They both turned. A whirling blackness, darker than the dim room, spun in the corner. Drew set his jaw. This could be bad.
6
Freya knew exactly what the whirling blackness was and who the vampire about to appear would most likely be. In some ways she had been waiting for this moment for over a year. She grabbed for Drew's shirt, which lay across the end of the bed, and pulled it over her head, her thoughts colliding. First Drew's outrageous proposal, which was everything she wanted but shouldn't have. She couldn't take him up on his offer, of course. Drew didn't know what life would be like as a vampire. Then came his accusation that she had ceded who she was to her father and to the Rules. And now . . . this.
Her father materialized in the dim room. She tried to still the thumping of her heart and see him through Drew's eyes. He would hardly look as dangerous as he was. He had a great paunch under the plain brown wool of his habit. His beard was white, his eyes piercing blue. If anything, he looked like the pictures human children had of St. Nicolas. But he was no kindly elf. He was the Eldest. He ruled Mirso Monastery, the final refuge for vampires sick with the boredom and repetition of eternity. She had lived there her entire life before this last year. Actually, all she had ever seen were the tortured vampire souls who took refuge there and the Aspirants she trained to be Harriers. Were there vampires who lived full lives out in the world and never needed Mirso? The thought had never occurred to her.
Her father's hard eyes swept the room. Drew scrambled out of the bed and stood beside her, naked. He put his arm around her shoulders for support. "Who are you?" he barked.
Her father didn't deign to answer Drew. "Well, Freya, have you tired of your little rebellion?"
It annoyed her that he didn't even acknowledge Drew. "He is known these days as Rubius Rozonczy," she said to Drew. "Father, this is Andrew Carlowe."
"It is time to return to Mirso, Freya. We have need of a new Harrier, and now you alone are able to produce one."
She had been trying to prepare for this moment for a year. "I cannot do that any more. Did you not read my letter?"
"Your petty preferences are not at issue," he said sternly. "You are a trainer of Harriers."
"No, Father." She wished her voice did not sound pleading. "The training is painful for them. And the endless arousal and suppression . . ." She broke off in confusion. In the end it had been torture for her as much as for them. "Sexual intercourse should be an act of trust and pleasure between two people. It . . . it shouldn't be like that."
"It is your calling, Freya. Vampire kind needs a Harrier." He glanced to Drew. "If you wish, you can bring your plaything with you. Use him for pleasure, if you need a respite."
She felt Drew stiffen. "He isn't an amusement, Father. I love him, and I'm not coming back to Mirso." There. She'd said it. Her mouth went dry. He was so much more powerful than she was, he could take her back by force. They both knew it.
Her father narrowed his eyes. "You are my daughter. I am the Eldest. You will obey."
"She's not doing anything she doesn't want to do." Freya started at Drew's intensity. He moved in front of her, as though that could protect her. "God, man, what kind of father makes his daughter engage in sex like it was a job? Fathers are supposed to love and protect their offspring."
"You know nothing, human." Her father's eyes roved over Drew's naked body. "Are you the reason my wayward daughter has grown disobedient? I can remedy that problem." His eyes went the deepest crimson. He stalked toward the two.
Odin and Loki, but he was going to kill Drew. He would, without a thought. Freya felt panic sweep through her. She was no match for him. He was the Eldest. Still, she called for power. Companion! The surge up her veins snapped the world into red.
"Father, no!" she shouted. But he kept coming. Companion, more! She thought about pressing him back. He hesitated, looking over at her. Did he feel her push?
"You can't stand against me, child. You know that." His voice was a boom, amplified by his power. He reached out and grabbed for Drew's shoulder.
Drew struggled in her father's iron grip. He couldn't escape. Her father would just twist his head off. She had seen him do it. All would be over in an instant. Irrevocable.
"No!" she shouted. Her father had both Drew's shoulders. Companion, more! As much as you have ever given.
The world went white. That was shocking. Where was the red? What was happening? Her veins throbbed with power. Her father put both hands on Drew's head as Drew tried to twist away. A glow spread out from her like a white corona. She thought about pushing at her father. She even thrust her hands out. They glowed white, too. She knew that glow.
Her father jerked back, taking Drew with him. He turned his crimson eyes on her. They widened and he gasped.
"Let him go, Father." Her voice was like the wind, a whooshing sound she did not recognize.
Her father turned to her, seeming to forget Drew entirely. Drew slumped to his knees. "You . . . you are a Harrier, daughter. I have never seen such power."
The corona of light contracted and the room w
ent back to dim. Freya was left gasping. How had this happened? She had seen the corona of power on other Harriers and knew what it could do. She had trained a hundred Harriers over the years. But how had she become one? "I. . . I guess all the time I was training Aspirants, I was also training me."
"Excellent." Her father actually rubbed his hands. "Now we won't even have to wait through the training of another Aspirant for our Harrier."
She was as powerful as her father. How odd. And that changed everything. "Don't think I'm going to be your emotionless instrument of revenge, Father. I'm staying here with Drew, and now I am almost certain there is nothing you can do about it."
He snorted in derision. "Humans are not worth the abandonment of your true purpose, Freya. What can they understand of the scope of our existence? They do not even live long enough to become wise."
In some ways that was the best thing he could have said. All became clear to Freya in that moment. "There is a wisdom of the heart that you have lost, Father. Or maybe you never had it." Tears sprang to her eyes. She looked past her father to where Drew was struggling to stand. "Drew is already wiser than you are, for all your age. I only hope I can learn from him."
Her father looked back to Drew. Did he see the softness in Drew's eyes? Would he recognize it for what it was? Freya was fairly certain it was love.
When her father snapped his head back to her, he said, "Remember the Rules, Freya." She smiled. He recognized the look, all right. And he knew what she intended. She did intend it, though she couldn't name the moment she had decided.
Drew was standing now, his feet apart. Lord, but he was magnificent. "A father has to let his daughter go, Rubius. Even if she makes mistakes. Your mistake was that you never learned that." Freya was proud of him.
And wonder of wonders, she saw her father look away. Was he ashamed? He took a breath and let it out of his massive chest. Maybe the fact that he recognized the look in Drew's eyes meant something. "You must have loved someone, Father, or been loved."
He didn't acknowledge anything. He looked at her. "Had it occurred to you that I might want you by me because I missed you as well as needed you? If you want to see me, you will know where to find me. I'll find another way to make Harriers."
The whirl of blackness engulfed him in mere seconds, much faster than she had ever been able to muster. He was . . . gone.
She turned to Drew. "Are you all right?" He nodded, and ran his hand through his hair, half laughing. "You have one scary father, my love." He shot a glance her way. "How do you feel?"
The smile that welled up in her brought a threat of tears with it. "Good." She shrugged, trying to make light of the fullness she felt inside. "Maybe . . . whole."
His eyes widened in memory. "You . . . you were quite amazing."
"I amazed myself. That was a demonstration of a Harrier's powers, in case you're interested."
"I love a young lady whom I can truly call accomplished." But did he? "Having second thoughts now that you know who I really am and have seen my very scary father?"
"I always knew who you really were, if you did not. And I think your father loves you in his very frightening way." He stepped in to her. They stood a handbreadth apart, not touching, the surface tension of attraction and hesitance in perfect balance. "And no, no second thoughts. You should have asked if I'm afraid."
"Are you?"
"Oh, yes. But you'll be there, won't you?" Warmth suffused her. She reached up and slipped one hand around his neck under the curls at his nape. "I will, Drew Carlowe. And do you want this?"
"I do, Freya Rozonczy." She smiled and felt the tears spill over and course down her cheeks. That was not her last name. To her knowledge she had no last name. But it was fitting she acknowledge that, for all his faults, she was her father's daughter. And she was her own person, too, for the first time. Drew led her back to the bed, climbed up and pulled her up beside him. He lay back, his strong body even now calling to the core of her. She asked for power, enough to run out her fangs. Her eyes would be glowing faintly red. She let him see the teeth extend. He must have no illusions. "There is no going back."
He pulled her close and kissed her, running his tongue over her fangs. "Then let us go forward." She felt his erection rising against her thigh. She throbbed in response.
He turned his head toward her and raised his chin, exposing the artery in his neck. But she wanted this to be special, sacred even. She reached down and caressed his cock. He was fully aroused now. So was she. She kissed her way from the pulse in his throat to the place directly under his jaw. "Not yet," she whispered. Her breasts rubbed against his chest hair. He rolled her to her back. She spread her knees. She wanted him to impale her, plunge himself inside. He positioned his cock and she pulled his buttocks into her. The sweet sensation of being filled possessed her. He moved in and out with controlled intensity. Sensation built and she did not want to stop it, prolong it, or deviate from its inevitable course. She turned the tables after a while and rolled him on his back. She straddled his hips and rocked up and down, back and forth. He groaned. She bit her lips, licking them. The saliva would keep the wounds from healing immediately, but there wasn't much time. He bared his throat again.
She took a breath. She was about to baptize her newfound self by an act her father would find repugnant but that she was sure was very right. Drew's trust as he exposed himself to her would not go unreturned. She bit down, gently, rocking against his cock. He moaned, but she didn't think it was from the slight pain of the twin wounds she had inflicted. He was hard and needing inside her. The copper tang of thick life filled her mouth. She could feel the blood on her lips mingle with his. For better or worse, it was done. She sucked lightly, caressing his shoulder as he thrust inside her. She could feel his release building. Her own was moments away. The sweet sensation of sucking at him even as they raced toward orgasm in some complex and most intimate exchange of fluids, body to body, soul to soul, enveloped her. Her world thrust outward, blood and semen and her own wild juices mingling in chaotic abandon as Drew exploded inside her. They slumped together, Drew crushing her to his chest. She felt her lips heal as though the cuts there had never been.
"The blood is the life, my love," she said. "For both of us," he whispered.
MIDNIGHT KISS GOODBYE
by
Dianna Love
This story is dedicated to my mother-in-law Jane O'Hern who gave me my first romance novel many years ago, and my hero as well when I married her only child.
My deep appreciation goes to Sherrilyn Kenyon for her friendship and endless support. I want to thank Caren Johnson for placing this story and Monique Patterson for being a fabulous editor. Thanks also to Maureen Hardegree who as an early reader gave me great feedback. Thanks so much to all those who have supported my writing, to name a few—James and Terri Love, Jim and Mary Buckham, Walt and Cindy Lumpkin, Gail and Dave Akins, Bart and Hope Williams, Bill Gayton, Joanne and Hank Shaw, Mae Nunn, Annie Oortman, Darlene Buchholz, Donna Browning, Debby Giusti, Jacqui Sue Ping, the RBLs, GRW members and all of you—the READERS—who allow me to write these stories. Please visit my website at www. AuthorDiannaLove.com and I love to hear from readers at [email protected].
Most of all, thanks to my incredible husband and hero, Karl Snell, who makes it possible for me to pursue my dreams.
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2
Trey parked his 1974 Bronco at the curb in front of Sasha's house. His plan had holes—like relying on her cooperation—but it was the best he could come up with this quick. He climbed out and bounded up the porch steps to knock on her door.
The faint sound of approaching footsteps inside reached his ears just before the door yawned open. Sasha wore a faded T-shirt that looked suspiciously like one he used to own and a scowl. Her eyes were puffy with exhaustion and her hair tousled as if she hadn't slept well.
But damn what a vision for first thing in the morning.
"I wake you up?
" he asked, forcing himself back on task.
"No, I just haven't showered. Why are you here?" she grumbled then ran her fingers through her hair.
"I want to hire you." "Hire me for what?" she snapped.
"To find someone."
"I'm booked." She tried to close the door, but Trey blocked it with his hand. "Can't we talk for a minute?"
"Like I said, I'm booked, which means I'm too busy for a new case." Her gaze broke from his, flitting around as if she searched for a thought. "Got a ton of paperwork to do today."
He doubted that was the reason. She probably needed to sleep during the day since her client had likely informed her that Ekkbar preferred to move at nighttime. Trey wanted her client's name first. . . and head next.
"Come on, Sasha. I need some help." "No." She smiled in an evil way that let him know she enjoyed the chance to use that word. He deserved the rejection, but guilt wouldn't deter him from his plan. Trey stepped forward, his foot now also blocking the door's path. When he leaned his head down, she bent her neck backward to face him. She smelled the way he always thought of her—soft and flowery with a touch of wildness that kept him on his toes.
"I just want to talk for a minute," he pressed, hoping he hadn't completely destroyed everything between them.
"Should have tried in the last nine years." Trey stifled a flinch, wishing on one of his trips home he could have repaired the damage his leaving had caused. What would he have said? "Sorry, Sasha, but I've committed my life to fighting unnatural beings." Better to suffer in silence than to expose her to his world. Besides, he'd cut off his arm before he broke her heart a second time and he was leaving again.
"I'm asking as a friend for a few minutes," Trey implored. He'd camp out on her porch if she still refused him after hearing his full proposal. He needed her help to keep her safe.
Dead After Dark_Shadow of the Moon Page 16
