by Michele Hauf
Pray to the goddess he’d showered.
“I’m in the bathroom,” she called when she heard his footsteps top the stairs. She slipped into the water, reached back to coil her hair into a chignon, and then stabbed a wooden hair stick through it that she kept beside the tub for just such purpose. “You can come in.”
The door opened a few inches, and Rook peeked in. Seeing her in the tub, surrounded by a cloud of bubbles, he entered. “I told you to wait for me. I worried.”
“I made it home fine.”
“I see that. Do you want me to leave?”
“Have you showered?”
“Yes.”
“Then stay, please. I’m glad you’re here.” His hair was wet, and she could only smell the luscious tobacco and peaches. Thank the goddess. “I was…just trying to—I need a—hell, I have to tell you. I want you to trust me.”
“Is it the blood hunger?” He strode in and squatted before the tub.
Verity nodded. “That’s why I left so quickly. I didn’t want you to see me like that. And you had blood scent all over you.”
“Sorry.”
“You couldn’t have known. I’m so hungry, but nothing I eat satisfies. And I keep thinking about how good blood would taste.” She pressed wet hands over her face. “I don’t want to think like that.”
“I don’t know how to make the cravings stop, beyond killing Clas or getting you past the full moon. Much as I want to stay here, not leave you alone, I need to get out on the streets to find Clas. So I’ve, uh…called in another knight to watch your house.”
“You think that’s necessary?”
“Very.” He pressed his palms together in front of his nose. “Kaz won’t get here for a few hours. He has an appointment he can’t miss. But when he arrives I have to leave. Right now I can sit and talk to you. Distract you.”
She nodded, catching her breath in a relieved sigh. “I’d like that. I like it whenever you’re around. I like you.”
“That’s a good thing.” He turned and sat, his shoulders against the tub wall, and rested his hands on his knees. “I like you too. A lot. You know when I said I love you—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I know it’s something that comes out during sex. It’s like fuck, yeah or more baby, please. Sex words.”
Rook scrubbed a hand over his hair, and it fell messily across his forehead. “That’s the thing.” He tilted his head back against the tub and eyed her. “I really do love you.”
Verity didn’t know what to say. His confession felt true. And it felt great. But it also felt ominous, especially when her gut lurched again, and she had to wince to keep from biting her lip to taste the blood. Instead, she busily spread the bubbles up her arm and neck.
“No comment?” he asked.
“I could love you, too. I might already. I want to love you, Rook. But I don’t want to commit to that until I’ve beat this. You know?”
“I understand. You have my complete support.” He clasped her bubble-laden hand. “I will do everything in my power to save you, Verity.”
“And what of your soul? Don’t you want to save yourself?”
“Will a soul save me? It’ll give Oz freedom. But as for me? It’ll return my mortality.”
She hadn’t thought about that. The man had existed four centuries. When finally his soul was placed within him and the demon was set free, he would become merely mortal. He would age. He would eventually die.
“How long have you lived?” he asked.
“About a century and a half. But I…well, I’ve always considered this my last century.”
He lifted a brow.
“My great-grandmother Bluebell—”
“Of the magical quilt.”
“Yes, that fabulous quilt. She used a source twice, then said enough. She had no desire to live forever. Felt she’d done what her soul had been born into this realm to do. So she died of old age. I think about that a lot, and I know I don’t want to live forever. Two centuries will be a long time, and so far it’s been great. To grow old naturally seems a gift. I might not take another source again.”
“The centuries do wear on a person. When did you last take a source?”
They used the term so casually. A source was the unfortunate vampire a witch bespelled so she could then remove its heart and consume it while it still beat. That prolonged the witch’s life another century. Not so much for the vampire. Vamps called sources ash.
“Thirty years ago?” she guessed. “About then. So I have another seventy years of immortality, and then if I don’t take a source, well, whatever time should follow. I’d like to grow old with someone. Perhaps even a husband.”
He smirked and laid his cheek against the side of the tub.
She traced the triangle of stubble beneath his lower lip. “Did you believe you were going to grow old with Marianne?”
He nodded. “We wanted half a dozen children and a big garden. That’s all we desired, beyond each other. And love.”
Verity’s throat tightened. Such simple desires taken from him so cruelly. And he, forced to kill his zombie wife.
“Maybe the two of you have found one another again,” she suggested.
“You mean with your soul?” He shrugged. “You are not Marianne. And that’s a good thing. I miss her. I loved her. I will always love her. But now I love you. And it feels different and…”
“Wondrous.”
He gave her a bright-eyed nod.
“Listen to us. Two souls with incredible odds stacked against them. We’re both a bit fucked, don’t you think?”
“That we are. Though I’ve been fucked for some time now. Your fuckery is a bit more immediate.”
She laughed, and he did too.
He stroked his finger down her neck and under the water beside her breast. She tilted so her breasts were exposed, and he tapped the hickey. “I do good work.”
“And you do like to sign your work. Your shirt is getting wet from the bubbles. Take it off.”
“You trying to get me naked, witch?”
“As bare as I can manage.”
He slipped off his shirt and turned to dangle his hands in the water. He glided his fingers over the hickey again, then down her stomach and between her legs.
“Your distraction is working, hunter.”
“Now I know why you women are always cooing over bubble baths and those sparkly balls you like to drop in the water. It smells great, and the water is so soft.”
His touch entered her, and Verity spread her legs to give him easy access. He lazily toyed with her, closing his eyes and resting his chin on the tub edge. She didn’t need anything intense, just the gentle pressure lingering, teasing.
“And now I know what to get you for Christmas,” she said. “Something sparkly to drop in your bathwater.”
“You’re all I need in my bathwater.” He kissed the side of her neck, and his hand cupped her breast.
“So will you tell me how you met King? I assume it was soon after everything that happened with your wife’s death.”
His hand tightened against her mons, and she sensed his entire body tense.
“I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about this anymore…”
“No, it’s fine. King and I. That’s all good. He sought me out after he’d witnessed me slaying the vampires who had killed Marianne. I had hunted them systematically, about a week after her death. I didn’t know what a fixer was at the time—that they were a super-powered being due to their alliance with Himself—so the fact that I took out six blew King away.”
“That’s an odd name. King.”
“His real name is Charles.”
“Giles and Charles. I like Giles. You haven’t used it since?”
“Never. I’m n
ot that man anymore. Although King is certainly Charles. His full name is Charles-Maximilien de France, Duke of Angouleme, son of Henri II and Catherine de Medici.”
Verity thought the long string of names familiar. She traced the French history she knew. “The former king of France? Back in the sixteenth century?”
Rook nodded. “You may know him best as Charles IX. But you didn’t hear it from me. It is a persona he guards closely. I trust you with the knowledge.”
“Thanks. So he is—was—a real king? Which makes him immortal. What is he, though?”
“Now that, I will never tell. It is his secret to own.”
“Amazing. But I thought—wasn’t he assassinated?”
“No, that was his brother Henri. Henri was named king after Charles, and not long after he was stabbed by a monk, of all people. Charles’s death was…different. The history books have it wrong about the poisoning. In a fashion. And that’s all I can say.”
“Of course.” Verity met the dancing twinkle in Rook’s blue eyes. The man guarded an actual historic secret. His best friend was once king of France. “Wow. Should I bow to him next time we meet?”
“Certainly not. First, he’d love that too much. And second, I’m not telling you any of this, remember?”
“Right. So you impressed him with your slaying skills and he signed you on?”
“Yes, he’d been working on developing an organization of hunters for a decade, but he hadn’t had much luck. When the two of us put our heads together, everything clicked into place. We founded the Order and haven’t looked back since.”
So she assumed King had been touched by vampire violence in some manner. Oh, the wonders she could wonder. But she would give Rook the trust he asked of her.
“King and Rook and the knights. You two play chess much?”
“Never, actually. Though the rook is one of the king’s most valued pieces. I liked the name, and so did he. It works for me.”
“You two must be close, working together all these centuries.”
“We are. We know everything about the other. We are brothers. Comrades in arms. Friends.”
She captured his gaze and stroked a wet fingertip over his lips. “Have you ever been lovers?”
He tucked his nose against her neck to kiss her and said, “Yes.”
Such information heated Verity’s core, and a twinge of desire tightened her nipples. To imagine the two men entwined in a loving embrace tapped into a fantasy of hers.
“Then I’m jealous,” she said. “But only a bit. You’re mine now, hunter. For as long as we can work.”
“Does that mean you’ve decided I am worthy of staying on beyond the three-date maximum?”
“Yes. At least until the full moon.”
“Beyond the moon,” he said. “I am yours beyond the moon.”
His hand slipped high on her breast, and as his mouth moved over hers, he suddenly pulled away, splashing water over the side of the tub. The look in his eyes startled her.
“What?”
He pressed his hand firmly over her breast. “I can…read you. I can feel your trust for me and your—your love. Verity, I can read your truths now. It’s there. The hunger. The fear. You’re confused about it—and scared.” He kissed her cheek. “Please don’t be scared, lover. I will get you through this.”
“I know you’ll try. But really? You can read me? I wonder why now? Do you think it’s Marianne?”
“If so, then she’s kept me from reading you until now.”
“Maybe she didn’t want you to learn about her soul right away.”
“Possible. Because she needed us to work together.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? You can feel my love for you. You know I’ve given you all my truths.”
“Yes, but you are—please don’t be scared, Verity.”
She sat up, bubbles dusting her chest. “When I’m with you, I’m not afraid. You’ve taken my thoughts away from you know what. You make me strong. When I’m with you I actually feel like I can make it past the moon. But…”
She glanced at the towel she’d set out to dry off with. She was cold now that she had sat up in the water.
“But what?”
The hunger pangs were still there, softer yet never gone. She needed to quench her thirst.
“I need to get out. I’m cold now.”
She stood, and he coved her up against him and wrapped the big towel around them both. They stood there in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, and he bowed his head to hers.
“Something is still bothering you. Tell me.” He pressed a hand over her heart, and she wasn’t so sure she liked that he could read her now. Because he must feel her reluctance.
“Verity?”
“It’s just…if I do transform to vampire, you have to understand that is not something I can live with. And you’ve said as much.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she pressed her fingers to his lips.
“So if I change…will you slay me?”
He shoved away from her, striding out into the bedroom.
She’d said the wrong thing. But it was her truth. He would have known if she had lied. How could she live with herself if blood was what that life demanded?
Rook turned to her, jaw muscle pulsing. “Do you understand what you just asked me to do?”
Yes, to slay the woman he had confessed to loving. Oh, hell.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” He’d already been forced to kill a woman he loved. “I wasn’t thinking about her. I’m sorry. So sorry. I just thought—”
“You didn’t think.”
“Rook, please.” Verity lost her grasp on her towel. She shivered, pressing her hands over her breasts. “This isn’t easy. I just…you felt it in me. I’m frightened.”
“You said when you are with me, you are not scared.”
“I’m not, but I am. It can’t happen, okay? It just can’t. And I need you right now. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. And maybe I don’t want a tender hug or kiss, I want…”
He tugged her from the doorway and into the bedroom, where he turned her against the wall, her shoulders hitting it roughly. He kissed her. Hard. Without mercy.
He gripped her thigh and lifted her. Shuffling at his zipper, he then shimmied down his leather pants, and without even asking, pushed inside her with his steely cock. And it burned so good. Verity slammed her palms against the wall behind her, taking his hot, angry need into her.
“Trust me, Verity.”
“I want to.”
“I won’t let you fall.”
He thrust deep, slowing his pace but not the intensity.
“I believe in you,” he said. “You are a witch. You are powerful.”
He was speaking to his past, to his dead wife’s soul—to Verity. And she did trust him because he gave her everything he had without question.
Shouting as the orgasm shook his muscles, he crushed his body against hers. Verity wrapped her arms around his head as she held him there, his body shuddering. Their bodies joined in the truth.
But the real truth would be known in less than two days. Either she survived and surpassed the vampire taint or…her lover would be forced to end her life.
Chapter 19
“That mansion is where Slater holds court.”
Rook pointed across the street and three buildings down from where he and King stood. Their location was on the outer side of the Peripherique road that circled Paris, within the outer edges of the Bois de Boulogne.
An anonymous note had been left on the windshield of Rook’s car, which he’d parked in front of Verity’s home. She did have vampire wards on her home, but Rook didn’t trust that the tribe wouldn’t find a way in. Cert
ainly Slater had written the message, but perhaps a lackey delivered it. The tribe leader wanted to bring the war to his turf.
And he was using Verity as a pawn by luring Rook away from the one thing he most wanted to protect. So when Kaz Rothstein had arrived to post outside the witch’s home, Rook had immediately left. He trusted Kaz. The knight was in love with his own witch—Zoë. He’d guard Verity’s home as if it were his own.
“We get Clas,” King said. “We’ve got Slater.”
The war Slater had declared hadn’t been the bloody battle Rook had expected. Instead, this more personal defensive move cut much deeper.
King slapped him on the back. “It all ends tonight. Who did you put on the witch’s home?”
“Rothstein.”
“He’ll keep watch over her.”
Rook knew that he would, yet the pinch of betrayal wouldn’t allow him to accept that he’d left Verity in the hands of another man when he should be the one to stand guard over her.
King shrugged down against the wall to a squat. He was wearing full hunting gear, which surprised Rook. The last time they’d gone out, after a werewolf pack principal, King had worn dress slacks and a white shirt. He’d thought the man had forgotten how to hunt.
No. Hunting ran in their blood. They knew nothing else. It was simply easier for King to assume the different role aside from hunter.
Rook leaned against the wall, propping his feet out so he sat halfway down the wall, near King’s shoulder.
“I’m not so sure about getting my soul back.”
King met his gaze, and for a moment they spoke to one another. This was a true confession. Handle it with care.
“You should be unsure,” King offered. “With a soul you’d become mortal. You’d age and die. Remember, you’re not supposed to die before me. What would I do without my oldest and best friend?”
“I’d miss you, man. But don’t you have days where you think it’s been enough?”
“All the time. You know that. But what about your witch? If you become mortal, and she’s immortal…”
“We’d still have many years together.”
And she had said something about not taking another source. Interesting. Dare he dream that shattered dream about loving and living and growing old together? Wisest not to. But difficult not to want to.
